I      • 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


m 


RErFRElTCE 


Young  Folks'  Readings, 


FOE 


SOCIAL  AND  PUBLIC  ENTERTAINMENT. 


EDITED  BY 


LEWIS    B.  MONHOE, 


BOSTON: 

LEE    AND    SIIEPARD,   PUBLISHERS. 

NE^W  YORK: 

CHARLES   T.   DILLINGHAM, 

187T. 


Copyright 

By  Lewis  B.  Monroe, 

187G. 


Elcctrofyped  at  the  Boston  Stereot)-pe  Foundry, 
19  Spring  Lane. 


en 


?N 


^  PREFACE 


Three  volumes  of  "  Public  and  Parlor  Readings  " 
^  have  already  been  given  to  the  public,  and  have 
ll    met   a   cordial   reception.     Now  comes   the   demand 

rfor  something  adapted  to  younger  minds.  Accord- 
ingly this  book  has  been  prepared.  The  range  of 
pieces  it  contains  will  be  found  suitable  for  young 
persons  from  ten  to  sixteen  years  of  age.  Yet, 
while  there  is  little  or  nothing  here  which  may  not 
t  be  fully  appreciated  by  the  "  Young  Folks,"  we 
feel  confident  that  adults  will  derive  equal  pleasure 
from  the  use  of  the  pieces  in  their  public  and  private 
entertainments. 

We  are  gratified  to  see  on  every  hand  indica- 
H  tions  that  reading  is  more  and  more  appreciated  as 
■r  a  graceful  and  elegant  accomplishment,  and  a  source 
of  enjoyment  in  the  social  circle  and  public  assembly. 
It  only  needs  that  this  growing  taste  should  be 
properly  cultivated  to  make  the  art  of  reading  a 
powerfid  means  of  moral  and  esthetic  culture,  with- 
out losing  a  whit  of  its  value  as  a  delightful  amuse- 
ment.    "To  read  Avell  is  to  think  well,  to  feel  well, 

3 


:5il44 


4  PREFACE. 

iind  to  render  well  ;  it  is  to  possess  at  once  intel- 
k'l-t,  soul,  and  taste." 

^W-  hope  that  the  specimens  we  have  given  will 
act  as  incentives  to  the  young  to  go  to  the  original 
sources,,  and  cultivate  a  more  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  gifted  authors  quoted. 

A  part  of  the  pieces  have  been  written  or  adapted 
especially  for  this  book.  Beyond  this,  our  thanks 
are  due  to  the  various  writers  and  publishers  by 
whose  kind  permission  the  selections  have  been  used. 
"We  are  particularly  indebted  to  J.  T.  Trowbridge, 
Esq.,  for  valuable  assistance.  His  "  Vagabonds " 
and  "Darius  Green,"  given  in  the  other  volumes 
of  this  series,  have  enjoyed  a  popularity  with  read- 
ers and  audiences  only  rivalled  by  Poe's  "  Raven  " 
and  "  Bells."  And  we  doubt  not  the  pieces  he  has 
furnished  for  this  volume  —  some  of  them  prepared 
by  him  especially  for  the  purpose  —  are  also  destined 
to  become  prime  favorites. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Cicely  akd  the  Bears .  Lilliput  Levee    .    .  9 

The  Test  of  Sight C.  P.  Cranch  ...  U 

That  Ten  Dollars IC 

The  O'LiNcoLN  Family Wilson  Flag g     .    .  22 

The  Blacksmith  of  Bottledell    ....  Jas.   M.   Ttiompson  23 

The  Stone-Cutter Bayard  Taylor     .  25 

The  Two  Chdrcu-Builders John  G.  Saxe     .    .  27 

My  Sister      29 

Awaking  a  Boy J.  M.  Bailey  ...  30 

The  Wonderfcl  Sack J.  T.  Trowbridge  .  31 

Peter's  Ride  to  the  Wedding 38 

Little  Pat  and  the  Parson 39 

Both  Sides Gail  Haviilton  .    .  41 

The  Worsted  Stocking 4-t 

The  Story  of  the  Little  Rid  Hin    .    .    .  Riverside  Mag.  .    .  49 

The  King  and  the  Locusts 53 

Griper  Greg 5G 

The  Children Dickinson    ....  59 

The  Eagle  and  the  Spider Krilof Gl 

Never  Give  Up Tapper G2 

Kitten  Gossip T.   Westwood  ...  G3 

John  Bdrns  of  Gettysburg Bret  Harte     ...  65 

Lilliput  Levee C8 

The  Soldier  Bird 72 

Beautiful  Grandmamma Stand,  of  the  Cross  75 

The  Boys 77 

Politics      Marion  Douglass  .  79 

Little  Benny 81 

The  Eternal  Burden 83 

Letting  the  Old  Cat  die      84 

The  Wives  of  Brixham 85 

5 


6  ,  CONTENTS. 

ClIRISTOrHER  COLUMRUS 88 

TiiK  Pizzi-ED  Census-Taker John  G.  Saxe  ...  90 

Thltii M.  F.  Tupper     .    .  91 

Lingering  Latimer 91 

Ode  to  Spring      92 

Robert  of  Lincoln Bryant   \ 93 

At  Sea J.  T.  Trowbridge  .  95 

The  Shadow  on  the  Blind 9G 

The  Puktraits 98 

The  Three  Warnings Mrs.  Tlii'dle    .    .    .  100 

])er  15aiiv 103 

(jlii.tv  or  Not  Guilty? 104 

Mv  Balloon  Ascent 106 

Mrs.  June's  Prospectus Susan  Coolidge  .    .  109 

The  King  of  Denmark's  Ride Caroline  E.  Norton  111 

The  Forget-me-not 112 

The  Little  Reader Olive  Leaf  ....  114 

The  Carriage  and  Couple 11(5 

Little  Diamond  AND  Drunken  Cabman  .  George  Macdonuld  117 

Santa  Claus  and  the  Motherless  Children 123 

Only  a  Shaving Owen  Meredith  .    .  127 

lioMANCE  at  Home Fanny  Fern    .    .    .  130 

JIow  He  Saved  St.  Michael's 132 

Snyder's  Nose      ^^Fat  Contributor"  13G 

The  High  Tide 139 

The  Motherless  Turkeys Marion  Douglass  .  141 

A  Bied's-eye  View 142 

The  Fox  in  the  Well J.   T.  Trowbridge  .  143 

A  Little  Child's  Trials John  Neal    ....  145 

CuRKEW  MUST  NOT  RING  TO-NIGHT      ....  Rosa  A.  Ilordwick  147 

My  Father's  Half-Bushel 150 

The  Fruits  of  Liberty Macavlay    ....  151 

Wink Mrs.  E.  D.  Kendall  152 

The  Stubborn  Boot Hearth  and  Home  154 

Marston  Moor W.  M.  J'raed  .    .    .  155 

Caldwell  of  Springfield Bret  llaHe      .    .    .  158 

Washington      Eliza  Cooke    .    .    .  159 

A  Hundred  Years  Ago IGO 

A  Night  of  Terror 102 

The  Unfinished  Pkaver 105 

Blindman'h  Buff Horace  Smith     .    .  166 

Kkakny  at  SEvjiN  Pines E.  C.  Stedman   .    .  168 


CONTENTS.  7 

Babt  Fatth Christian  Observer  170 

Be  Patient Trench 171 

My  Dog  "Sport," Rev.  Thos.  Street  .  172 

SciPio  TO  the  Senate D.  A.  }yasson    .    .  170 

King  Kobeut  of  Sicily Longfellow  .j  .    .    .  177 

Ouu  Fathers Charles  Spragiie    .  183 

Motives  of  Action Lord  Mansfield  .    .  185 

If  I  WERE  A  Voice Charles  Mackay     .  18G 

The  Song  of  Steam 187 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus Longfellow  \    .    .    .  189 

A  Grecian  Fable 191 

The  Coming  Woman Christian  Union    .  192 

The  Affray  IN  King  Street,  Boston,  1770, //ai^'^Aorne  .    .    .    .  195 

Tit  for  Tat 197 

To  Whom  shall  we  give  Thanks  ? 199 

The  Dynmouth  Fisherman 2u0 

Three  Little  Nest-Birds 204 

Anger  and  Enumeration James  M.  Bailey    .  206 

King  Christian  the  Dane 208 

The  BrAHJIIN  AND  THE  TiGEK 211 

Jingles Examiner    ....  213 

Prayer  and  Potatoes 214 

Mice  at  Play Neil  Forrest    ...  217 

The  Petrified  Fern 224 

The  Blacksmith's  Story Frank  Clive    .    .    .  225 

Naming  the  Chickens Mrs.  L.  B.  Bacon  .  229 

The  Advertisement  Answered Frank  M.  Thorn  .  230 

Love  in  a  Balloon Litchfield  Moseley  .  234 

Tom's  COME  Home J.  T.  Trou-bridge  .  241 

Wyatt's     Harangue    to     the    London 

Crowd Tennyson    ....  247 

Waking Caroline  Mason      .  248 

The  Angel's  Story Adelaide  Procter   .  250 

How  Tom  Sawyer  got  his  Fence  m'hite- 

M'ASHEi) Mark  Twain  .    .    .  255 

Our  Oriole  Neighbors Beverly  Moore    .    .  258 

Defence  OF  HoFER,  THE  Tyrolese  Patriot 259 

The  Little  Hero 2(52 

TiiK  Historical  Butcher 2G7 

Babie  Bell T.  B.  Aldrich     .    .  2(58 

Jimmy^  Butler  and  the  Owi 271 


8  CONTENTS. 

Bachelor's  ITall 275 

Shelling  Teas      ' C.  P.  Crunch  .    .    .  27G 

The  Two  Weavers Ilannah  More     .    .  278 

The  Art  of  Conversation Punch 280 

BouiiY Robert  Chambers  ..  281 

The  Legend  OF  THE  Organ-Builder      .   .  Uarper's  Magazine  283 

Under  the  Wagon 287 

A  Boy's  Journal 288 

The  Last  Serpent T.  Crofton  Croker  .  289 

A  Domestic  Scene 291 

The  Sweets  of  Lidertv 292 

A  Letter  of  Blunders      293 

On  the  Ramparts  bare,  stood  the  Lady  fair 295 

Count  Candespina's  Standard George  H.  Boker  .  297 

A  Clever  Trick 300 

Katie  Lee  and  Wil,lie  Gray 302 

The  Sailor's  Consolation William  Pitt  .    .    .  304 

The  Language  o^  Signs 305 

Tin:  Haven Edgar  A.  Poe    .    .  308 

An  Evening  with  Helen's  Babies     .   .   .  J.  Ilabberton  .   .   .  313 

Has  not  since  been  heard  of 316 

The  Discontented  Buttercup Sarah  0.  Jewett     .  317 

A  Wedding  March  on  Trial 318 

Grandmother  Gray Mary  K.  Boutelle  .  320 

The  Sailor-Boy's  Dream Dimond 322 

Nancy  Blynn's  Lovers J.  T.  Trowbridge  .  324 


Young  Folks'  Readings. 


CICELY  AND   THE   BEARS. 


OYES  !  0,  yes  1  0,  yes  !  ding-dong  !  " 
t     The  bellman's  voice  is  loud  and  strong, 
So  is  his  bell  :   "  0,  yes  !   ding-dong  I  " 

He  wears  a  coat  with  golden  lace  ; 

See  how  the  people  of  the  place 

Come  running  to  hear  what  the  bellman  says  ! 

"  0,  yes  1  Sir  Nicholas  Hildebrand 
Has  just  returned  from  the  Holy  Land, 
And  freely  offers  his  heart  and  hand  — 

"  0,  yes  !  0,  yes  !  0,  yes  I  ding-dong  1  " 

All  the  women  hurry  along, 

Maids  and  widows,  a  clattering  throng. 

"  0,  sir,  you  are  hard  to  understand  ! 
To  whom  does  he  offer  his  heart  and  hand  ? 
Explain  your  meaning,  we  do  command  !  " 

9 


10  YOUNG    folks'   readings. 

"  0,  yes  !  ding-dong  !  you  shall  understand  ! 
0,  yes  !  Sir  Nicholas  Ilildcbrand 
Invites  the  ladies  of  this  land 

"  To  feast  with  him,  in  his  castle  strong, 
This  very  day  at  three.     Ding-dong  ! 
0,  yes  !  0,  yes  !  0,  yes  !  ding-dong  I  "  . 

Then  all  the  women  went  off  to  dress, 
Mary,  Margaret,  Bridget,  Bess, 
Patty,  and  more  than  1  can  guess. 

The}'  powdered  their  hair  with  golden  dust. 
And  bought  new  ribbons  —  they  said  they  must- 
But  none  of  them  painted,  we  will  trust. 

Long  before  the  time  arrives, 

All  the  women  that  could  be  wives 

Are  dressed  within  an  inch  of  their  lives. 

Meanwhile  Sir  Nicholas  Ilildcbrand 

Had  brought  with  him  from  the  Holy  Land 

A  couple  of  bears  —  0,  that  was  grand  ! 

lie  tamed  the  bears,  and  they  loved  him  true ; 
Whatever  lie  told  them  they  would  do  — 
Ilark  I  'tis  the  town  clock  striking  two  1 


II. 

Among  the  maidens  of  low  degree 
The  poorest  of  all  was  Cicely  — 
A  shabbier  girl  could  hardly  be. 

"  0,  I  should  like  to  sec  the  feast, 

But  my  frock  is  old,  my  shoes  are  pieced. 

My  hair  ia  rough  !  "  —  (It  never  was  greased.) 


CICELY   AND   THE    BEARS.  11 


Tlic  clock  struck  three  !     She  durst  not  c^o  ! 
But  she  heard  the  baud,  and,  to  see  tlic  show, 
Crept  after  tlie  people  tliat  weut  in  a  row. 

When  Cicely  came  to  the  castle  gate, 
The  porter  exclaimed,  "  Miss  Shaggypate, 
The  hull  is  full,  and  you  come  too  late  ! " 

Just  then  tlie  music  made  a  din, 
Flute,  and  cymbal,  and  culverin, 
And  Cicely,  with  a  squeeze,  got  in. 

0,  what  a  sight !     Full  fifty  score 

Of  danios  that  Cicely  knew,  and  more, 

Fillhig  tlie  hall  i'rom  dais  to  door  ! 

The  dresses  were  like  a  garden  bed. 
Green  and  gold,  and  blue  and  red  — 
Poor  Cicely  thought  of  her  tossy  head  I 


She  heard  the  singing  —  she  heard  the  clatter 
Clang  of  flagon  and  clink  of  platter  — 
But,  0,  the  feast  was  no  such  matter  ! 


For  she  saw  Sir  Nicholas  himself, 
Raised  on  a  dais  just  like  a  shelf, 
And  fell  in  love  with  him  —  shabby  elf! 

Her  heart  beat  quick  ;  aside  she  stepped  ; 
Under  the  tapestry  she  crept, 
Tousling  her  tossy  hair,  and  wept ! 

llev  cheeks  were  wet,  her  eyes  were  red. 
"  Who  makes  that  noise  ?  "  the  ladies  said  ; 
"  Turn  out  that  girl  with  the  shaggy  head  !  " 


12  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


III. 

Just  tlion  tliore  was  heard  a  double  roar, 
That  sliook  tlio  place,  both-  wall  and  floor  : 
Everybody  looked  to  the  door. 

It  was  a  roar,  it  was  a  growl ; 
The  ladies  set  up  a  little  howl, 
And  flapped  and  clucked  like  frightened  fowl. 

Sir  nildebrand  for  silence  begs  — 

111  walked  the  bears  on  their  hinder  legs, 

AVise  as  owls,  and  merry  as  grigs  ! 

The  dark  girls  tore  their  hair  of  sable  ; 
The  fair  girls  hid  underneath  the  table  ; 
Some  fainted  ;  to  move  they  were  not  able. 

But  most  of  them  could  scream  and  screech  — 
Sir  Nicholas  Ilildcbrand  made  a  speech  — 
"  Order  1  ladies,  I  do  beseech  ! " 

The  boars  looked  hard  at  Cicely, 
Because  her  hair  hung  wild  and  free  — 
"  Related  to  us,  miss,  you  must  be  1  " 

Then  Cicely,  filling  two  plates  of  gold 
As  full  of  cherri(,'s  as  they  could  IkjM, 
AVulked  up  to  the  bears,  and  spoke  out  bold  :  - 

"  "Welcome  to  you  !  and  to  you,  Mr.  Bear  ! 
\\"\\\  you  take  a  chair  ?  will  you  take  a  cliair  ? 
This  is  an  honor,  we  do  declare  1"    ' 

Sir  nildebrand  strode  up  to  see, 
Saying,  "  Who  may  this  maiden  be  ? 
Ladies,  this  is  the  wife  for  me  ! " 


CICELY    AND    THE   BEARS.  13 

Almost  before  tliey  could  understand, 
Jle  took  up  Cicely  by  the  hand, 
And  duiiccd  witli  her  a  saraband. 

Ilcr  hair  was  rouj^h  as  a  parlor  broom  ; 
It  swung',  it  swirled  all  round  the  room  — 
Those  ladies  were  vexed,  we  may  presume. 

Sir  Nicholas  kissed  her  on  the  face, 
And  set  her  beside  him  on  the  dais, 
And  made  her  the  lady  of  the  place. 

The  nuptials  soon  they  did  prepare, 
With  a  silver  comb  for  Cicely's  liair  : 
There  were  bands  of  music  everywhere. 

And  in  that  beautiful  bridal  show 
Both  tlio  bears  were  seen  to  go 
Upon  their  hind  legs  to  and  fro  ! 

Now  every  year  on  the  wedding  day 
The  boys  and  girls  come  out  to  play, 
And  scramble  ior  cherries  as  they  may. 

With  a  cheer  for  this  and  the  other  bear, 
And  a  cheer  for  Sir  Nicholas,  free  and  fair, 
And  a  cheer  for  Cis,  of  the  tossy  hair  — 

With  one  cheer  more  (if  you  will  wait) 
For  every  g-irl  with  a  curly  pate, 
Who  keeps  her  hair  in  a  proper  state. 

Sing  bear's  grease  !  curling-irons  to  sell  ! 
Sing  combs  and  brushes  !  sing  tortoise-shell  ! 
0,  yes  !  ding-dong  !  the  crier,  the  bell  ! 
Isn't  this  a  pretty  tale  to  tell  ? 


14  YOUNG   folks'   READmOa. 


THE  TEST  OF   SIGHT. 


A   CHINESE   STORY. 


TWO  young,  short-sighted  fellows,  Chang  and  Ching, 
Over  tlicir  chop-sticks  idly  chattering, 
Fell  to  disputing  which  could  see  the  best. 
At  last  they  agreed  to  put  it  to  the  test. 
Said  Chang,  "A  marble  tablet,  so  I  hear, 
Is  placed  upon  the  Bo-hee  temple  near, 
With  an  inscription  on  it.     Let  lis  go 
And  read  it  (since  you  boast  your  optics  so), 
Standing  together  at  a  certain  place 
In  front,  where  we  the  letters  just  may  trace  ; 
Then  he  wIkj  quickest  reads  the  inscription  there. 
The  palm  for  keenest  eyes  henceforth  shall  bear." 
"Agreed,"  said  Ching  ;   "  and  let  us  try  it  soon  : 
Suppose  we  say  to-morrow  afternoon." 
"  Nay,  not  so  soon,"  said  Chang  ;   "  I'm  bound  to  go 
To-morrow  a  d?y's  ride  from  Ilo-liang-ho, 
And  shan't  bo^ady  till  the  following  day. 
At  ten  A.  M.,  on  Thursday,  let  us  say." 

So  'twas  arranged.     But  Ching  was  wide  awake  ; 
Time  by  the  forelock  he  resolved  to  take, 
And  to  the  temple  went  at  once,  and  read 
Upon  the  tablet,  "  To  the  illustrious  Dead, 
The  chief  of  Mandarins,  the  great  Goh-bang." 
Scarce  had  he  gone,  when  stealthily  came  Chang, 
Who  read  the  same  ;   but,  peering  closer,  he 
Spied  in  a  corner —  what  Ching  failed  to  see  — 
The  words,  "  This  tablet  is  erected  here 
By  those  to  whom  the  great  Goh-bang  was  dear." 


THE  TEST   OF   SIGHT.  15 

So,  on  the  appointed  day  —  both  innocent 

As  babes,  of  course  —  these  honest  fellows  went 

And  took  their  distant  station.      And  Cliing  said, 

"  I  can  read  plainly  '  To  the  illustrious  Dead, 

The  chief  of  Mandarins,  the  great  Goh-bang.'  " 

"And  is  that  all  that  you  can  spell  ?  "  said  Chang. 

"  I  see  what  you  have  read  ;   but  furthermore, 

In  smaller  letters,  toward  the  temple-door. 

Quite  plain,  '  This  tablet  is  erected  here 

By  those  to  whom  the  great  Goh-bang  was  dear.'  " 

"  My  sharp-eyed  friend,  there  are  no  such  words,"  said 

Ching. 
"  They're  there,"  said  Chang,  "  if  I  see  anything, 
As  clear  as  daylight."     "  Patent  eyes,  indeed. 
You  have!"    cried    Ching,      "Do  you  think    I    cannot 

read?" 
"  Not  at  this  distance,  as  I  can,"  Chang  said, 
"  If  what  you  say  you  saw  is  all  you  read." 

In  fine,  they  quarrelled,  and  their  wrath  increased  ; 
Till  Chang  said,  "  Let  us  leave  it  to  the  priest. 
Lo,  here  he  conies  to  meet  us."     "  It  is  wo|r\ 
Said  honest  Ching  ;   "  no  falsehood  he  will  tdl." 

The  good  man  heard  their  artless  story  through, 
And  said,  "  I  think,  dear  sirs,  there  must  be  few 
Blest  with  such  wondrous  eyes  as  those  you  wear. 
There's  no  such  tablet  or  inscription  there. 
There  was  one,  it  is  true  ;  'twas  moved  away 
And  placed  within  the  temple  yesterday." 

C.  p.  Ceanch. 


16  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THAT   TEN   DOLLARS. 


IT  was  odd,  very  odd  ;  reckon  it  up  this  way  or  that 
way,  or  in  wliatever  way  I  might,  the  result  was 
just  the  same  —  I  had  ten  dollars  more  than  I  could 
account  for.  I  went  over  the  whole  quarter's  receipts 
again,  to  see  if  something  had  not  been  omitted ;  but 
everything  was  quite  right.  "  Ha  !  what's  this  ?  It 
looks  like  a  scratching  out ;  and  yet  it  can't  be,  for  I 
never  use  a  penknife."  So  I  held  the  leaf  up  to  the 
light,  and  scanned  it  closely,  and  then,  turning  it  over, 
scrutinized  it  again.  "  It  certainly  does  look  very 
much  like  an.  erasure  ;  but  no,  'tis  only  a  little  rough- 
ness on  the  surface  of  the  paper."  I  was  completely 
puzzled.  It  was  quite  possible  for  me  to  have  too 
little  ;  but  to  have  ten  dollars  too  much  —  I  could 
not  understand  that  at  all.  "  Well,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"  it's  better,  at  any  rate,  than  having  ten  dollars  too 
little."  Still,  the  idea  of  there  being  a  mistake  some- 
where made  fnc  feel  very  uncomfortable. 

I  had  been-  busy  preparing  my  accounts  in  order  to 
present  them  to  my  employers  in  the  morning,  for  the 
morrow  was  quarter-day,  and  I  knew  that  in  nothing 
could  a  clerk  offend  so  much  as  by  being  wrong  in 
his  balance.  So  I  thcmglit  a  little,  and  then  deter- 
mined to  consult  Jackson,  our  managing  clerk.  I 
was  young  at  the  time  —  not  more  than  twenty;  and, 
having  been  in  the  establishment  only  a  few  months, 
I  knew  ])ut  little  of  his  character.  He  was  exceed- 
ingly attentive  to  lousiness ;  l)iit  there  were  some 
vague  floating  rumors  going  the  round  of  tlie  place, 
wliich  accredited  liiin  with  aiiytliing  but  a  steady  life. 


THAT   TEN   DOLLARS.  17 

But  ho  bad  always  been  very  civil,  and  even  kind,  to 
me  ;  and  so,  in  my  dilemma,  I  sought  his  advice.  He 
went  over  my  accounts  with  me,  but  could  detect 
nothing  wrong. 

"  Well,  Watson,"  he  said,  "  you  are  on  the  right 
side  now,  and  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  keep 
there.  Just  pocket  the  money,  and  say  nothing 
about  it." 

Seeing  that  I  demurred,  he  continued, — 

"  Of  course  you  can  do  as  you  please  ;  but  I  know 
this  much,  if  you  were  that  ten  dollars  short,  you 
would  have  to  make  it  up  in  quick  time." 

I  was  again  about  to  make  my  objections  to  this 
mode  of  procedure,  when  I  was  cut  short  by  a  sales- 
man, who  came  to  say  that  ^Ir.  Jackson  was  wanted 
in  the  sale-room.  As  he  strode  away,  Jackson  turned 
round,  and  said,  — 

''  I'll  see  you  about  it  again,  Watson  ;  in  the  mean 
time,  you  need  not  mention  it  to  any  one." 

I  saw  no  more  of  him  till  my  labors  were  done  for 
the  day,  and  I  was  reaching  my  hat  down  from  its 
peg,  when  he  ta])ped  me  over  the  shoulder. 

"  One  word,  Watson,  before  you  go :  if  ever  it 
should  be  found  out  where  the  mistake  lies,  I  will 
make  it  all  right  for  you.     Good  night." 

That  night  the  ten  dollars  were  ever  before  me. 
The  last  thing  I  remember,  before  ialling  asleep,  was 
thinking  of  the  ten  dollars  ;  I  slept,  and  dreamed  of 
ten  dollars.  In  tho  morning,  whilst  at  breakfast,  I 
laid  the  whole  alfair  before  my  mother,  and  asked  her 
counsel. 

"  Give  up  the  money,  of  course." 

"  13ut  you  see,  mother,  I  am  afraid  it  would  otfund 
2 


18  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Jackson,  he  seema  so  much  to  wish  me  to  hush 
it  up." 

*'  Xcvcr  mind  Jackson  ;  do  what  is  right,  and  I  am 
sure  it  will  be  better  for  you  in  the  end.  Tell  Mr. 
Elliot  "  —  the  head  partner  —  "  how  it  is,  and  I  am 
certain  he  won't  be  angry." 

I  ate  the  remainder  of  my  meal  in  silence  ;  for, 
whilst  I  did  not  wish  to  make  an  enemy  of  Jackson, 
who  could,  if  he  pleased,  make  my  situation  very  un- 
pleasant, I  had  strong  compunctions  about  keeping 
the  money.  Breakfast  was  over,  and,  as  I  was  leav- 
ing home,  my  mother  took  hold  of  my  hand,  and 
said, — 

"  Promise,  me,  Henry,  before  you  go,  that  you  will 
give  up  the  money." 

1  hesitated. 

"  Surely,  Henry,  you  would  not  steal  ?  " 

"  Steal?     Never  ! "     And  I  promised  at  once. 

Jackson  found  no  time  to  speak  to  me  that  morning, 
being  engaged  witli  Mr.  Elliot ;  but  when,  in  my  turn, 
I  entered  the  private  office,  I  saw  him  cast  an  inquir- 
ing glance  towards  me. 

"  This  seems  all  right,  Watson,"  said  Mr.  Elliot, 
after  looking  over  my  account.  "  Have  you  anything 
else  ?  " 

"  Yea,  sir ;  I  have  still  ten  dollars,  of  which  I  am 
unable  to  give  any  account." 

"  Strange  1  Are  you  sure  that  you  have  missed 
nothing  ?  " 

"Quite,  sir;  I  have  been  over  everything  several 
times,  and  lat.t  night  Mr.  Jackson  was  kind  enough  to 
assist  me." 

*'  It's  strange ;  but  you  can  put  the  money  back  into 


THAT   TEN   DOLLARS.  19 

your  safe.  I  dare  say  it  will  be  found  out  before  the 
next  quarter  is  up.  And  by  the  by,  Watson,  I  intend 
to  raise  your  salary.  HoUoway  is  going  to  leave,  and 
I  wish  you  to  take  his  place." 

I  thanked  him,  and  heartily,  too ;  for  a  hundred  dol- 
lars a  year  was  no  small  increase  at  our  house. 

"  Let  me  see.  I  think,  Jackson,  he  had  better  begin 
to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  it  will  be  most  convenient." 

"  You  hear,  Watson.  I  believe  there's  nothing 
more.     Good  morning." 

There  was  joy  in  our  house  that  night,  and  on  the 
morrow  I  went  forth  with  a  light  heart  to  take  posses- 
sion of  HoUoway's  stool. 

And  now,  dear  reader,  just  take  a  jump  over  the 
next  three  years.  Jackson  was  still  in  his  place  ;  but 
I  had  risen  step  by  step,  until  I  occupied  a  post  in- 
ferior only  to  that  held  b)''  himself.  The  mystery  at- 
tached to  my  ten  dollars  had  never  been  unravelled, 
and  they  still  reposed  peacefully  in  my  safe.  Jack- 
son and  I  got  on  very-  well  together ;  but  there  was 
one  thing  which  I  could  not  understand.  For  a  feAV 
nights  before  quarter-day,  Jackson  always,  under 
some  pretence  or  other,  took  the  books  home  with 
him ;  but  as  I  did  not  consider  it  my  place  to  inter- 
fere, I  said  notliing. 

It  was  the  quarter-day  at  the  end  of  the  three  years 
of  which  I  have  spoken,  and  I  was  assisting  Mr.  Elliot 
in  examining  the  account  of  one  of  the  junior  clerks, 
whose  ledger  exhibited  a  glaring  deficiency  of  one. 
luindred  and  fifty  dollars.  The  youth  was  not  the 
Itrightest  in  the  world,  and  for  a  time  he  seemed 
stunned.     But  he  was  sure  it  must  be  some  mistake 


20 


YOUNG    folks'    readings. 


of  mine;  liis  cash  was  all  right  three  days  ago;  and  he 
took  the  book  to  see  ibr  himself.  The  result  was  the 
pame  —  deficit,  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  Again 
he  went  over  it,  and  I  could  see  the  big  drops  of  sweat 
roll  down  his  face  as  he  again  came  to  the  same  horri- 
ble conclusion  —  deficit,  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
A  third  time  he  essayed  to  reconcile  the  difi"erence  ; 
but,  suddenly  stopping  short,  he  turned  to  Mr.  Elliot, 
and  cried,  — 

*'  These  are  not  ray  figures,  sir." 

"  Then  whose  are  they  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir ;  they  are  not  mine  ;  look,  sir, 
something  has  been  scratched  out  here." 

"  Umph  1  So  there  has.  Has  the  ledger  ever  been 
out  of  your  care  ?  " 

*'  No,  sir  —  that  is,  yes  —  twice." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Last  niglit  and  the  night  before." 

"  Who  had  it  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Jackson." 

"  Then  call  Mr.  Jackson  up  here." 

He  came. 

"  Mr.  Jackson,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  "  there's  an  error 
in  Brown's  account :  something  appears  to  have  been 
scratched  out ;  and  as  I  understand  you  have  had  his 
ledger  the  last  two  nights,  I  thought  perhaps  you 
could  explain  it." 

Jackson  turned  deadly  pale,  and,  bending  down  to 
hide  the  ghastly  hue  of  his  countenance,  he  pretended 
to  examine  the  figures. 

Yes  ;  there  had  been  an  erasure  ;  but  he  could  ex- 
plain it.  He  had  a  private  memorandum  in  his  dusk; 
he  would  fetch  it. 


THAT   TEN   DOLLARS.  21 

Ten  mimitcs  went  by,  but  Jackson  did  not  return. 

"  Watson,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  "  will  you  go  and  say 
that  I  shall  be  pleased  if  Mr.  Jackson  will  come  here 
immediately  ?  " 

I  went,  but  could  not  find  him. 

"  Osborne,"  I  asked  of  a  porter,  "  have  you  seen  Mr. 
Jackson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  went  out  about  ten  minutes  ago." 

"Went  out?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  came  down  stairs  looking  very  white, 
and,  taking  his  hat,  he  said  he  felt  rather  ill,  and  would 
get  a  little  air." 

I  went  back  and  told  Mr.  Elliot. 

"  0  ! "  was  all  he  uttered  ;  and  then  turning  on  his 
heel,  he  motioned  for  us  to  follow.  He  first  went  to 
Osborne,  who  repeated  his  story  again  ;  and  then  he 
crossed  to  Jackson's  desk,  which  was  locked.  A  smith 
was  sent  for,  and  the  lock  forced. 

"  Mr  Watson,"  said  Mr.  Elliot,  taking  out  Jackson's 
books, — he  had  never  called  me  Mr.  Watson  before, — 
"  will  you  come  with  me  to  my  private  room  ?  T  shall 
want  you  for  a  few  minutes." 

That  few  minutes  expanded  into  hours ;  and  the  dis- 
covery of  embezzlements  by  Jackson,  to  the  extent  of 
some  thousand  dollars,  was  the  result  of  our  labor. 
These  frauds  extended  over  several  years  ;  and,  by  a 
curious  coincidence,  the  very  first  of  them  was  con- 
nected with  my  ten  dollars  —  the  last,  of  course,  with 
Brown's  hundred  and  fifty.  Need  I  say  that  Jackson 
was  never  heard  of  again  ? 

That  night  I  walked  home  as  the  managing  clerk 
of  the  firm  of  Elliot  and  Co. ;  and  never  since  have  1 
forgotten  the  lesson  taught  me  by  my  ten  dollars. 


22         YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE  O'LINCOLN  FAMILY. 

A  FLOCK  of  merry  birds  were  sporting  in  the  g-rove  ; 
Some  were  warbling  cheerily,  and  some  were  mak- 
ing love  : 
These  were  Bobolincoln,  Wadoliucoln,  Winterseeble,  Con- 

queodle  ; 
A  livelier  set  were  never  led  by  tabor,  pipe,  or  fiddle  ; 
Crying,  "Pliew,  shew,  Wadolincoln!  see,  see,  Bobolincoln, 
I)(jwn  among  the  tickle  tops,  hiding  in  the  buttercups  ! 
I  know  tlie  saucy  chap  ;   1  see  his  shining  cap 
Bobbing  in  the  clover  there  :  see,  see,  see  !  " 

Up  flies  Bobolincoln,  perching  on  an  apple  tree, 
Startled  by  liLs  rival's  song,  quickened  by  his  raillery. 
Soon  he  spies  the  rogue  afloat,  curveting  in  the  air, 
And  merrily  he  turns  about,  and  warns  him  to  beware  ! 
"  'Tis  you  that  would  a  wooing  go,  down   among  the 

rushes,   0  ! 
But  wait  a  wecik,  till  flowers  are  cheery  ;  wait  a  week, 

and  ere  you  marry 
Be  sure  of  a  house  wherein  to  tarry  1 
"NVadoliuk,  Whiskodink,  Tom  Denny,  wait,  wait,  wait!" 

Every  one's  a  funny  fellow  ;  every  one's  a  little  mellow ; 

P'ollow,  follow,  follow,  o'er  the  hill  and  in  the  hollow  ! 

Merrily,  merrily,  there  they  hie  ;  now  they  rise,  and  now 
they  fly  ;  .  _ 

Thoy  cross  and  turn,  and  in  and  out,  and  down  in  the 
middle,  and  wheel  about. 

With  a  "  Phew,  shew,  Wadolincoln  !  listen  to  me,  Bobo- 
lincoln ! 

IIapj>y'8  the  wooing  that's  speedily  doing,  that's  speedily 
doing ; 

That's  merry  and  over,  with  the  bloom  of  the  clover  ! 

Bobolincoln,  AVadoliucobi,  Winterseeble,  follow,  follow 
rac  !  " 


THE   BLACKSMITH    OP   BOTTLEDELL.  23 

0,  whiit  a  liappy  life  they  lead,  over  the  hill  and  in  the 

mead  ! 
How  they  siii<^,  and  how  they  play  !      See,  they  fly  away, 

away  ! 
Now  they  gambol  o'er  the  clearing' ;  off  again,  and  then 

appearing ; 
Poised  aloft  on  quivering  wing,  now  they  soar,  and  now 

they  sing,  — 
"  0,  let  us  be  merry  and  moving  I     0,  lot  us  bo  hapi)y 

and  loving  ! 
For  when  midsummer  has  come,  and  the  grain  has  ripened 

its  ear, 
The  haymakers  scatter  our  young,  and  wc  mourn  for  tlie 

rest  of  the  year  ! 
Then  Bobolincoln,  Wadolincoln,  Winterseeble,  haste,  haste 

away  !  " 

WlLSOS  Flagg. 


THE  BLACKSmTH  OF   BOTTLEDELL. 

HORNY  hands  and  swarthy  face, 
Burliest  of  a  burly  race, 
The  Saxon  blacksmith  took  his  place, 

Beside  his  anvil.      "  Sir,"  said  I, 

"  They  say  you've  laid  a  fortune  by  ; 

Why  still  your  hard  vocation  ply  ?  " 

"  Stranger,"  said  he,  "  I  see  your  plan, 
A  prying,  interviewing  man. 
Come  to  find  out  all  you  can, 

"  And  put  it  in  the  papers.     Well, 
You  see  I  did  quit  work  a  spell. 
Till  Tom  Sparks  came  to  Bottledell  ; 


24  YOUNG  folks'  headings. 

"  Tom  Sparks,  the  blacksmitli  over  tlicre, 
At  t'other  corner  of  the  square, 
And  folks  said  I  wa'n't  anywhere  — 

"  Tliat  this  Tom  Sparks  could  beat  me  blind 

At  blacksmith  work  of  any  kind, 

Specially  putting  on  bosses'  shoes  behind  !  " 

The  speaker  paused  and  breathed  a  spell, 
And  from  his  eyes  the  flash  that  fell 
Lit  the  bravest  face  in  Bottledell. 

"  Stranger,  I  don't  care  what  you  say  ; 
I'm  rather  odd,  I've  got  my  way  ; 
I'll  get  on  lop,  and  there  Fll  stay  — 

"  That  is,  I  don't  care  what  the  loss  is, 
Learn  my  trade  over,  work  under  bosses, 
Or  beat  Tom  Sparks  a  shoeing  bosses  1  " 

There  is  a  lesson,  — learn  it  well,  — 
Taught  in  the  story  that  I  tell 
Of  that  proud  smith  of  Bottledell. 

He  had  a  soul,  the  type  of  those 
To  whom  success  forever  goes. 
For  whom  the  victor's  laurel  grows. 

Such  wills  as  hie  have  caught  the  world. 
And  held  it  fast  when  thrones  were  hurled 
Together,  and  the  red  flames  curled 

Above  the  wreck.     AVhen  Caesar  fell 
No  grander  spirit  said  farewell 
Than  had  the  smith  of  'Bottledell  ! 

James  Mal-iiick  Thompson 


THE  STONE-CUTTER.  25 


THE  STO^^]-CUTTER. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  in  Japan  a  poor  stone- 
cutter —  a  simple  workman  in  the  quarries.  His 
Hfe  was  rude ;  he  worked  much,  gained  little,  and  was 
not  at  all  contented  with  his  fate. 

"  0,  if  I  could  only  be  rich  enough  to  rest,  to  sleep 
on  thick  matting,  wrapped  in  a  kirimon  of  soft  silk ! " 
Such  was  the  sigh  which  he  breathed  to  Heaven.  An 
angel  intercepted  it. 

"It  shall  be  according  to  thy  desire,"  said  the  angel 
to  him.  And  he  at  once  became  rich  ;  and  he  rested, 
slept  upon  thick  matting,  and  wrapped  himself  in  a 
kirimon  of  soft  silk. 

It  happened  that  the  emperor  passed  by.  He  was 
preceded  by  heralds  on  foot  and  horseback,  followed 
by  a  brilliant  escort  of  cavaliers,  and  surrounded  by 
persons  who  held  over  his  head  an  immense  parasol, 
resplendent  with  gold. 

"  What  good  does  it  do  me  to  be  rich,"  murmured 
the  man,  "  as  long  as  I  have  not  the  right  to  go  out 
with  an  escort,  and  my  head  protected  by  a  golden 
parasol  ?     Why  am  I  not  the  emperor  ?  " 

"  Thou  shalt  be,"  said  the  angel. 

And,  indeed,  he  became  the  emperor.  He  had  an 
escort  before  and  behind  him,  and  people  who  held 
above  his  head  an  immense  parasol,  resplendent  with 
gold. 

However,  the  sun,  with  his  ardent  beams,  dried  up 
the  country,  and  the  dusty  road,  quivering  with  his 
brightness,  Hitigued  the  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  great  advantage  to  be  emperor,"  cried  the 


26  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

man,  "  when  the  heat  of  the  day  exhausts  you,  and 
the  sun  never  ceases  to  make  you  feel  his  power ! 
But  if  one  could  be  the  sun  ! " 

"  Behold  !  are  you  satisfied  ?  "  the  angel  asked  ;  for 
ho  had  become  the  sun,  and  he  darted  his  beams  up 
and  down,  right  and  left,  and  all  around  him.  And 
he  scorched  the  herbage  of  the  earth  and  the  faces 
of  the  princes  upon  the  earth. 

But  now  a  cloud  thrust  itself  between  the  earth 
and  him  ;  it  held  back  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  pre- 
vented them  from  falling  upon  the  earth's  surface. 

"  There  is  strength,"  cried  the  sun  ;  "  a  cloud  capa- 
ble of  resisting  my  power.  It  would  be  better  if  I 
were  a  cloud." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  angel. 

And  the  transformation  was  at  once  accomplished. 
The  new  cloud  placed  itself  haughtily  between  the 
Bun  and  the  earth,  and  so  thoroughly  intercepted  the 
rays  of  the  sun  that  it  soon  saw  the  earth  covered 
with  its  shadow.  Then  it  caused  big  drops  of  rain, 
and  pouring  showers,  and  waterspouts  to  fall  on  the 
lands,  so  thattlie  torrents  burst  their  bounds,  and  the 
rivers  spread  over  and  devastated  the  fields. 

Nothing  resisted  the  force  of  the  inundation ;  only 
a  rock  defied  it,  perfectly  motionless.  In  vain  the 
bellowing  waters  beat  in  their  fury ;  the  rock  yielded 
not,  but  the  foaming  waves  died  at  its  foot. 

"  A  rock,  then,  is  my  superior,"  said  the  cloud  ;  "  I 
would  rather  be  in  its  place." 

"  You  shall  be,"  said  the  angel. 

And  he  was  transformed  into  a  steep,  unshaken  rock, 
insensible  to  the  rays  of  the  sun,  indifTerent  to  the  tor- 
rents of  rain  and  the  shock  of  the  tumultuous  waves. 


THE    TWO    CHURCH-BUILDERS.  27 

Nevertheless,  ho  distinguished  at  his  feet  a  man 
of  poor  appearance,  hardly  clotlied,  but  armed  with 
a  chisel  and  a  hammer ;  and  the  man,  with  the  help 
of  these  instruments,  struck  off  pieces  of  tlie  rock, 
which  he  dressed  into  stones  proper  for  cutting. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  cried  the  ruck  ;  "  has  a  man  the 
power  of  rending  pieces  of  stone  from  my  breast  ? 
Shall  I  be  weaker  than  he  ?  Then  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  I  sliould  be  that  man." 

"  Have  your  will,"  said  the  angel ;  and  he  became 
again  what  he  had  been  —  a  poor  stone-cutter,  a 
simple  workman  in  the  quarries.  His  life  was  rude, 
he  worked  much,  and  gained  little ;  but  he  was  con- 
tented with  his  lot. 

[From  "  Japan  In  Our  Day,"  by  Batabd  Taylor.1 


THE   TWO   CHURCH-BUILDERS. 


A  FAMOUS  king  would  build  a  church, 
A  temple  vast  and  grand  ; 
And,  that  the  praise  might  be  his  own, 

lie  gave  a  strict  command 
That  none  should  add  the  smallest  gift 
To  aid  the  work  he  planned. 

II. 

And  when  the  mighty  dome  was  done, 

Within  the  noble  frame, 
Upon  a  tablet  broad  and  fair, 

In  letters  all  allame 
With  burnished  gold,  the  people  read 

The  royal  builder's  name. 


28         YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

in. 

Now,  when  the  king-,  elate  with  pride, 
That  iiig-ht  had  soug'ht  his  bed, 

lie  dreamed  he  saw  an  angel  come 
(A  halo  round  his  head), 

Ei'ase  the  royal  name,  and  write 
Another  in  its  stead. 

IV. 

What  could  it  mean  ?     Three  times  that  night 

That  wondrous  vision  came  ; 
Three  times  he  saw  that  angel  hand 

Erase  the  royal  name, 
And  write  a  woman's  in  its  stead, 

In  letters  all  aflame. 

V. 

Whose  could  it  be  ?    He  gave  command 

To  all  about  his  throne 
To  seek  the  owner  of  the  name 

Tliat  on  tlie  tablet  shone  ; 
And  so  it  was  the  courtiers  found 

A  widow  poor  and  lone. 

VI. 

The  king,  enraged  at  wliat  ho  heard, 
Cried,  "  Bring  the  culprit  here  !" 

And  to  the  woman,  trembling  sore, 
lie  said,  "  'Tis  very  clear 

Tliat  you  have  broken  my  command  ; 
Xow  let  tlie  truth  appear  I  " 

VII. 

"  Your  majesty,"  the  widow  said, 

"  I  can't  deny  the  truth  ; 
I  lovu  the  Lord,  —  my  Lord  and  yours, — 


MY   SISTER.  29 

And  so,  in  simple  sooth, 
I  broke  your  majesty's  command. 
(I  crave  your  royal  rutb.) 

VIII. 

"  And  since  I  had  no  money,  sire, 

Why,  I  could  only  pray 
That  God  would  bless  your  majesty  ; 

And  when  along  the  way 
The  horses  drew  the  stones,  I  gave 

To  one  a  wisp  of  hay." 

IX. 

"  Ah  !  now  I  see,"  the  king  exclaimed, 

"  Self-glory  was  my  aim  ; 
The  woman  gave  for  love  of  God, 

And  not  for  worldly  fame  ; 
'Tis  my  command  the  tablet  bear 

The  pious  widow's  name." 

John  O.  Saxk. 


MY   SISTER. 

WHO  held  the  tempting  cherry  nigh. 
And  always  tried  to  make  me  cry. 
And  stuck  the  scissors  in  my  eye  ? 

My  sister. 

Who  threw  my  plaj^things  on  the  floor, 
And  broke  my  doll  behind  the  door, 
And  my  best  ribbons  always  wore  ? 

My  bister. 

Who  pinched  my  kitten's  ear  or  tail. 
And  ducked  her  in  the  water  p;iil, 
And  laughed  at  her  unearthly  wail  ? 

My  sister. 


30         YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"Who  spilled  lier  coffee  in  1113^  lap, 
And  tore  nitiniina's  new  breakfast  cap, 
And  blurred  with  ink  my  atlas  map  ? 

My  yister. 

Who's  glad  dear  sister's  married  now, 
And  not  at  home  to  raise  a  row  ? 
1  know  who's  happy,  any  how  ! 

Her  sister  ! 


AWAKING  A  BOY. 

CALLING  a  boy  up  in  the  morning-  can  hardly  be 
classed  under  the  head  of  "  pastimes,"  especially 
if  the  boy  is  fond  of  exercise  the  day  before.  And 
it  is  a  little  singular* that  the  next  hardest  thing  to 
getting  a  boy  out  of  bed  is  getting  him  into  it. 

There  is  rarely  a  mother  who  is  a  success  at  rous- 
ing a  boy.  All  mothers  know  this  ;  so  do  their  boys. 
And  yet  the  mother  seems  to  go  at  it  in  the  right  way. 
►She  opens  the  stair-door,  and  "insinuatingly  observes, 
"Johnny!"  There  is  no  response.  ''John-???/.'"  Still 
no  response.  Then  there  is  a  short,  sharp  "  John  ! " 
followed  a  moment  later  by  a  prolonged  and  emphatic 
"  John  Henry  !  " 

A  grunt  from  the  upper  regions  signifies  that  an 
impression  has  been  made,  and  the  motlicr  is  encour- 
aged to  add,  "  You'd  better  be  getting  down  here  to 
your  breaklast,  young  man,  before  I  come  up  there, 
an'  give  you  something  you'll  feel."  This  so  startles 
the  yoinig  man  that  lie  inunediately  goes  to  sleep 
again.  And  the  operation  has  to  be  repeated  several 
tinjes. 


THE    WONDERFUL   SACK.  31 

A  father  knows  nothing  about  this  trouble.  lie 
merely  opens  his  mouth  as  a  soda  bottle  ejects  its 
cork,  and  the  "  John  Henry  "  that  cleaves  the  air  of 
that  stairway  goes  into  that  boy  like  electricity,  and 
pierces  the  deepest  recesses  of  his  very  nature.  And 
he  pops  out  of  that  bed,  and  into  his  clothes,  with  a 
promptness  that  is  commendable. 

It  is  rarely  a  boy  allows  himself  to  disregard  the 
paternal  summons.  About  once  a  year  is  believed  to 
be  as  often  as  is  consistent  with  the  rules  of  healtli. 
He  saves  his  father  a  great  many  steps  by  his  thought- 
fuluess. 


THE   WONDERFUL   SACK. 

THE  apple  boughs  half  hid  the  house 
Where  lived  the  lonely  widow  ; 
Behind  it  stood  the  cliosttmt  wood, 
Before  it  spread  the  meadow. 

She  had  no  money  in  her  till  ; 

She  was  too  poor  to  borrow  ; 
With  her  lame  leg  she  could  not  beg  ; 

And  no  one  cheered  her  sorrow. 

She  had  no  wood  to  cook  her  food, 
And  bnt  one  ciiair  to  sit  in  ; 

Last  spring  she  lost  a  cow,  that  cost 
A  whole  year's  steady  knitting. 

She  had  worn  her  fingers  to  the  bone  ; 

Her  back  was  growing  double  ; 
One  day  .the  pig  tore  up  her  wig, — 

But  that's  not  half  her  trouble. 


32  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Ilcr  best  black  gown  was  faded  brown  ; 

Her  shoes  were  all  in  tatters, 
"With  not  a  pair  for  Sunday  wear  : 

Said  she,  "  It  little  matters  ! 

"  Nobody  asks  me  now  to  ride  ; 

My  garments  are  not  fitting  ; 
And  with  my  crutch  I  care  not  much 

To  hobble  off  to  meeting. 

"  I  still  preserve  my  Testament, 
And  though  the  Acts  are  missing, 

And  Luke  is  torn,  and  Hebrews  worn, 
On  Sunday  'tis  a  blessing. 

"  And  other  days  I  open  it 

Before  me  on  the  table,  • 

And  there  I  sit,  and  read,  and  knit, 

As  long  as  1  am  able." 

One  evening  she  had  closed  the  book, 

But  still  she  sat  there  knitting  ; 
"  Meow-meow  !  "  complained  the  old  black  cat ; 

"  Mew-mew  \"  the  spotted  kitten. 

And  on  the  hearth,  with  sober  mirth, 
"  Chirp,  chirp  !  "  replied  the  cricket. 

'Twas  dark,  —  but  hark  !      "  Bow-ow  !  "  the  bark 
Of  Ranger  at  the  wicket ! 

Ib  Ranger  barking  at  the  moon  ? 

Or  what  can  be  the  matter  ? 
What  trouble  now  ?     "  Bow-ow  !  bow-ow  !  "  — 

She  hears  the  old  gate  clatter. 

"  It  is  the  wind  that  bangs  the  gate, 

And  I  must  knit  my  stocking  !  " 
But  hush  !  —  what's  that  ?     Rat-tat  !  rat-tat ! 

Alas  !  there's  some  one  knocking  ! 


THE   WONDERFUL   SACK.  33 

"  Dear  me  !  dear  mc  1  who  can  it  be  ? 

Where,  where  is  my  crutch-handle  ?  " 
She  rubs  a  matcli  witli  hasty  scratch  ; 

She  cannot  lig-ht  the  candle  1 

Eat-tat !  scratch,  scratch  !  the  worthless  match  ! 

The  cat  growls  in  the  corner. 
Rat-tat !  scratcli,  scratch  !     Up  flies  the  latch,  — 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Warner  !  " 

The  kitten  spits  and  lifts  her  back, 

Her  eyes  glare  on  the  stranger; 
The  old  cat's  tail  rufTs  big  and  black  ; 

Loud  barks  the  old  dog  Ranger  ! 

Blue  burns  at  last  the  tardy  match, 

And  dim  the  candle  glimmers  ; 
Along  the  floor  beside  the  door 

The  cold  white  moonlight  shimmers. 

"  Sit  down  !  "  —the  widow  gives  her  chair- 

"  Get  out !  "  she  says  to  Ranger. 
'•'  Alas  !  T  do  not  know  your  name." 

"  No  matter  !  "  quoth  the  stranger. 

His  limbs  are  strong,  his  beard  is  long, 

His  hair  is  dark  and  wavy  ; 
Upon  his  back  he  bears  a  sack  ; 

His  stall"  is  stout  and  heavy. 

"  My  way  is  lost,  and  with  the  frost 

I  feel  my  fingers  tingle." 
Then  from  his  back  he  slips  the  sack,  — 

Ho  1  did  you  hear  it  jiugle  ? 

"  Nay,  keep  your  chair  !  while  you  sit  there, 

I'll  take  the  other  corner." 
"  I'm  sorry,  sir,  I  have  no  fire  !  " 

"  No  matter,  Mrs.  Warner  !  " 
3 


r>  1:  YOUNG   folks'    EEADINGS. 

He  sluikes  his  sack,  —  the  magic  sack  ! 

Amazed  the  widow  gazes  ! 
Ho,  ho  !  the  chimney's  full  of  wood  I 

lia,  ha  !  the  wood  it  blazes  1 

IIo,  ho  !  lia,  ha  !  the  merry  fire  ! 

It  sputters  and  it  crackles  ! 
Snap,  snap  !  Hash,  (lash  !  old  oak  and  ash 

Send  out  a  million  sparkles. 

The  stranger  sits  upon  his  sack 

Beside  the  chimney-corner, 
And  rubs  his  hands  before  the  brands, 

And  smiles  on  Mrs.  Warner. 

She  feels  her  heart  beat  fast  with  fear  ; 

lint  what  can  be  the  danger  ? 
"  Can  I  do  aught  for  you,  kind  sir  ?  " 

"I'm  hungry  !  "  quoth  the  stranger. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  she,  "  I  have  no  Ibod 

For  boiling  or  for  baking  !  " 
**  I've  food,"  quoth  he,  "  for  j'ou  and  me  !" 

And  gave  his  sack  a  shaking. 


Out  rattled  knives,  and  forks,  and  spoons 
Twelve  eggs,  potatoes  plenty  ! 

One  large  soup  dish,  two  plates  of  fish. 
And  bread  enough  for  twenty  ! 

And  Rachel,  calming  her  surprise, 

As  well  as  she  was  able. 
Saw,  following  these,  two  roasted  geese, 

A  tea-urn,  and  a  table  I 

Strange,  was  it  not  ?  each  dish  was  hot ; 

Not  even  a  plate  was  broken  ; 
The  cloth  was  laid,  and  all  arrayed. 

Before  a  word  was  spoken  ! 


f 


THE   V,-ONDERFUL   SACK.  35 

"  Sit  up  !  sit  up  !  and  we  will  sup, 

Dear  madam,  wliilo  we're  able  !  " 
Said  she,  "  The  room  is  poor  and  small 

For  such  a  famous  table  1  " 


Again  the  strang-er  shakes  the  sack  ; 

The  walls  begin  to  rumble  ! 
Another  shake  1  the  rafters  quake  ! 

You'd  think  the  roof  would  tumble  ! 

Shake,  shake  !  the  room  grows  high  and  large. 

The  walls  are  painted  over  ! 
Shako,  shake  1  out  fall  four  chairs,  in  all, 

A  bureau,  and  a  sola  ! 

The  stranger  stops  to  wipe  the  sweat 

That  down  his  face  is  streaming. 
"  Sit  up  !  sit  up  !  and  we  will  sup," 

Quoth  he,  "  while  all  is  steaming  !" 

The  widow  hobbled  on  her  crutch  ; 

lie  kindly  sprang  to  aid  her. 
"  All  this,"  said  she,  "  is  too  much  for  mc  !  " 

Quoth  he,  "  We  '11  have  a  waiter  ! " 

Shake,  shake,  once  more  !  and  from  the  sack 

Out  popped  a  little  I'ellow, 
With  elbows  bare,  bright  eyes,  sleek  hair. 

And  trousers  striped  with  yellow. 

His  legs  were  short,  his  body  plump, 

His  cheek  was  like  a  cherry  ; 
He  turned  three  times  ;  he  gave  a  jump  ; 

His  laugh  rang  loud  and  merry  ! 

He  placed  his  hand  upon  his  heart, 
And  scraped  and  bowed  so  handy  ! 

"  Your  humble  servant,  sir,"  he  said, 
Like  any  little  dandy. 


36  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Tlic  widow  laughed  a  long,  loud  laugh, 
And  up  she  started,  screaming  ; 

When  ho  !  and  lu  !  the  room  was  dark  !  — 
She'd  been  asleep  and  dreaming  ! 

Tlie  stranger  and  his  magic  sack, 

The  dishes  and  the  fishes, 
The  geese  and  things,  had  taken  wings. 

Like  riches,  or  like  witches  ! 

All,  all  was  gone  !     She  sat  alone  ; 

Her  hands  had  dropped  their  knitting. 
"  Meow-meow  !  "  the  cat  upon  the  mat ; 

"  Mew-mew  !  mew-mew  !  "  the  kitten. 

The  hearth  is  bleak,  —  and  hark  !  the  creak, 
"  Chirp,  chirp  !  "  the  lonesome  cricket. 

*'  Bow-ow  !  "  says  Ranger  to  the  moon  ; 
The  wind  is  at  the  wicket. 

And  still  she  sits,  and  as  she  knits. 

She  ponders  o'er  the  vision  : 
*'  I  saw  it  written  on  the  sack, 

'  A  Cheerful  Disposition.' 

"  I  know  God  sent  the  dream,  and  meant 

To  teach  this  useful  lesson. 
That  out  of  peace  and  pure  content 

Springs  every  earthly  blessing  ! " 

Said  she,  "  I'll  make  the  sack  my  own  ! 

I'll  shake  away  all  sorrow  !  " 
She  shook  the  sack  for  me  to-day  ; 

She'll  shake  for  you  to-morrow. 

She  shakes  out  hope  ;  and  joy,  and  peace. 

And  happiness  come  after  ; 
She  shakes  out  smiles  for  all  the  world  ; 

She  shakes  out  love  and  laughter. 


THE   WONDERFUL   SACK.  37 

For  poor  and  rich,  —  no  matter  which,  — 

For  young'  J'olk8  or  for  old  folks, 
For  strong  and  weak,  for  proud  and  meek, 

For  warm  folks  and  for  cold  folks  ;  — 

For  children  coming-  homo  from  school, 

And  sometimes  for  the  teacher  ; 
For  white  and  black,  she  shakes  the  sack,  — 

In  short,  for  every  creature. 

And  everybody  who  has  grief, 

The  sufferer  and  the  mourner, 
From  far  and  near,  come  now  to  hear 

Kind  words  from  Mrs.  Warner. 

They  go  to  her  with  heavy  hearts, 

They  come  away  with  liglit  ones  ; 
They  go  to  her  with  cloudy  brows. 

They  come  away  with  bright  ones. 

All  love  her  well,  and  I  could  tell 

Of  many  a  cheering  present 
Of  fruits  and  things  their  liiendship  brings, 

To  make  her  fireside  pleasant. 

She  always  keeps  a  cheery  fire  ; 

The  house  is  painted  over  ; 
She  has  food  in  store,  and  chairs  for  four, 

A  bureau,  and  a  sofa. 

She  says  these  seem  just  like  her  dream. 

And  tells  again  the  vision  : 
"  I  saw  it  written  on  the  sack,  — 

'  A  Cheerful  Disposition  ! '  " 

J.  T.  Tkowbkiitgk. 


^jr^i  S/sJ 


38         YOUNG  folks'  readings, 


PETER'S   RIDE   TO   THE  WEDDING. 

PETER  would  ride  to  the  wedding-  —  lie  would  ; 
So  he  mounted  his  ass  ;  —  and  his  wife, 
She  was  to  ride  beliind,  if  slie  could, 
"  For,"  says  Peter,  "  the  woman,  she  should 
Follow,  not  lead  through  life. 

"  He's  «)ighty  convenient,  the  ass,  my  dear, 

And  pn^per  and  sate  —  and  jiow 
You  hold  by  the  tail,  while  I  hold  b}'  the  ear, 
And  we'll  ride  to  the  kirk  in  time,  never  fear. 

If  tlic  wind  and  the  weather  allow." 

The  wind  and  the  weather  were  not  to  be  blamed. 

But  the  ass  had  adopted  the  whim, 
That  two  at  a  time  was  a  load  never  framed 
For  the  back  of  one  ass,  and  he  seemed  quite  ashamed 

That  two  should  stick  fast  upon  him. 

"Come,  Dobbin,"  says  Peter,  "I'm  thinking  we'll  trot." 

"  I'm  thinking  we  won't,"  says  the  ass, 
III  hiDguage  of  conduct,  and  stuck  to  the  spot 
As  if  he  had  sworn  he  would  sooner  be  shot 
Than  lift  up  a  toe  from  the  grass. 

Says  Peter,  says  he,  "  I'll  whip  him  a  little." 

"  Try  it,  my  dear,"  says  she. 
lint  he  might  just  as  well  have  whipped  a  brass  kettle. 
TIk;  ass  was  made  of  such  obstinate  mettle 

Tii.it  never  a  step  move<I  he. 

"  I'll  piick  him,  my  dear,  with  a  needle,"  said  she; 

"  I'm  thinking  he'll  alter  his  mind." 
'i'he  ass  felt  the  needle,  and  up  went  his  heels  ; 
"  I'm  thinking,"  says  Peter,  "  he's  beginning  to  feel 

Some  noti(;n  of  moving  —  behind. 


LITTLE    PAT    AND   THE   PARSON.  39 

"  Now  lend  me  the  needle,  and  I'll  prick  his  ear, 

And  Ret  t'other  end,  too,  agoing." 
The  ass  felt  the  needle,  and  upward  he  reared ; 
But  kicking  and  rearing  was  all,  it  appeared. 

He'd  any  intention  of  doing. 

Says  Peter,  says  he,  "  We  get  on  rather  slow  ; 

While  one  end  is  up,  t'other  sticks  to  the  ground  ; 
I5ut  I'm  thinking  a  method  to  move  him  I  know  : 
Let's  prick  head  and  tail  together,  and  so 

Give  the  creature  a  start  all  around." 

So  said,  so  done  ;  all  hands  were  at  work. 

And  the  ass  he  did  alter  his  mind. 
For  he  started  away  with  so  sudden  a  jerk 
That  ill  less  than  a  trice  he  arrived  at  the  kirk, 

But  he  left  all  his  lading  behind. 


LITTLE   PAT   AND   THE   PARSON. 

HE  stands  at  the  door  of  the  church  peeping  in  ; 
No  troublesome  beadle  is  near  him  ; 
The  preacher  is  talking  of  sinners  and  sin, 

And  little  Pat  trembles  to  hear  him  ; 
A  poor  little  fellow  alone  and  forlorn. 

Who  never  knew  parent  or  duty,  — 

His  head  is  uncovered,  Ins  jacket  is  torn, 

And  hunger  has  withered  his  beauty. 

The  white-headed  gentleman  shut  in  the  box 

Seems  growing  more  angry  each  minute  ; 
lie  doubles  his  fist,  and  the  cushion  he  knocks, 

As  if  anxious  to  know  what  is  in  it. 
Ho  scolds  at  tlie  people  who  sit  in  the  pews  ; 

Pat  takes  them  for  kings  and  princesses. 
(With  his  little  bare  feet  —  he  delights  in  their  shoes 

In  his  rags  —  lie  feels  proud  of  their  dresses  !) 


40  YOuxG  folks'  readings. 

The  parson  exhorts  them  to  think  of  their  need, 

To  turn  from  tlie  world's  dissipation, 
The  naked  to  clothe,  and  the  hungry  to  feed. 

Pat  listened  with  strong  approbation  ! 
And  when  the  old  clerg3'man  walks  down  the  aisle, 

Pat  runs  up  to  meet  him  right  gladly. 
"  Shure,  give  me  my  dinner,"  says  ho,  with  a  smile^ 

"  And  a  jacket,  —  1  want  them  quite  badly  !" 

The  kings  and  princesses  indignantly  stare. 

The  beadle  gets  word  of  the  danger, 
And,  shaking  his  silver-tipped  stick  in  the  air. 

Looks  knives  at  the  poor  little  stranger. 
But  Pat's  not  afraid  ;   he  is  sparkling  with  joy, 

And  cries  —  who  so  willing  to  cry  it  ?  — 
"  You'll  give  me  my  dinner  —  I'm  such  a  poor  boy  : 

You  said  so,  —  now  don't  you  deny  it ! " 

The  pompous  old  beadle  may  grumble  and  glare, 

And  growl  about  robbers  and  arson  ; 
But  the  boy  who  has  faith  in  the  sermon  stands  there, 

And  smiles  at  the  white-headed  parson  1 
The  kings  and  princesses  may  wonder  and  frown. 

And  whisper  he  wants  better  teaching  ; 
But  the  white-headed  parson  looks  tenderly  down 

On  the  boy  who  has  faith  in  his  preaching. 

He  takes  him  away  without  question  or  blame. 

As  eager  as  Patsy  to  press  on. 
For  lie  thinks  a  good  dinner  (and  Pat  thinks  the  same) 

Is  the  moral  that  lies  in  the  lesson. 
And  after  long  years,  when  Pat,  handsomely  dressed  — 

A  smart  footman  —  is  asked  to  determine 
Of  all  earthly  things  what's  the  thing  lie  likes  best, 

lie  says,  "  Uch  !  shure,  the  master's  ould  sermin  1 " 


BOTH   SIDES.  41 


BOTH  SIDES. 

KITTY,  Kitty,  you  mischievous  elf, 
What  have  you,  pray,  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

But  Kitty  was  now 
Asleep  on  the  mow. 
And  only  drawled  dreamily,  "  Me-a-ow  1" 

"  Kitty,  Kitty,  come  here  to  me  — 

The  naughtiest  Kitty  I  ever  did  see  ! 

1  know  very  well  what  you've  been  about ; 

Don't  try  to  conceal  it  ;  murder  will  out. 

AViiy  do  you  lie  so  lazily  there  ?  " 

"  0,  I  have  had  a  breakfast  rare  !  " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  hunt  for  a  mouse  ?  " 

"  0,  there's  nothing  fit  to  cat  in  the  house  !  " 

"  Dear  me  !  Miss  Kitty, 

This  is  a  pity  ; 
But  I  guess  the  cause  of  your  change  of  ditty. 
What  has  become  of  the  beautiful  thrush 
That  built  her  nest  in  the  heap  of  brush  ? 
A  brace  of  young  robins  as  good  as  the  best ; 
A  round  little,  brown  little,  snug  little  uest ; 
Four  little  eggs  all  green  and  gay, 
Four  little  birds  all  bare  and  gray. 
And  Papa  Robin  went  foraging  round, 
Aloft  on  the  trees,  and  alight  ou  the  ground. 
North  wind,  or  south  wind,  he  cared  not  a  groat. 
So  he  popped  a  fut  worm  down  each  wide-open  throat ; 
And  Mamma  Robin  through  sun  and  storm 
Hugged  them  up  close,  and  kept  thcin  all  warm  ; 
And  me,  I  watched  the  dear  little  things 
Till  the  feathers  pricked  out  on  their  pretty  wings. 


42  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  their  eyes  peeped  up  o'er  the  rim  of  the  nest. 
Kitty,  Kitty,  you  know  the  rest. 
The  nest  is  empty,  and  silent,  and  lone  ; 
Where  are  the  four  little  robins  gone  ? 

0  Puss  !  3'ou  have  done  a  criiel  deed  ! 

Your  eyes,  do  they  weep  ?  your  heart,  does  it  bleed  ? 

Do  )'ou  not  feel  your  bold  cheeks  turning  pale  ? 

Not  you  !     You  are  chasing  your  wicked  tail. 

Or  you  just  cuddle  down  in  the  hay  and  purr. 

Curl  up  in  a  ball,  and  refuse  to  stir. 

But  you  need  not  try  to  look  good  and  wise  ; 

1  sec  little  robins,  old  Puss,  in  your  eyes  ; 
And  this  morning,  just  as  the  clock  struck  four, 
There  was  some  one  o])ening  the  kitchen  door, 
And  caught  you  creeping  the  wood-pile  over. 
Make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  Kitty  Clover  ! " 

Then  Kitty  arose. 

Rubbed  uj)  her  nose, 
And  looked  very  much  as  if  coming  to  blows  ; 

Rounded  her  back, 

Leaped  from  the  stack. 
On  her  feet,  at  my  feet,  came  down  with  a  whack. 
Then,  fairly  awake,  she  stretched  out  her  paws, 
Smoothed  down  her  whiskers,  and  unsheathed  her  claws. 

Winked  her  green  eyes 

AVilh  an  air  of  surprise. 
And  spoke  rather  plainly  for  one  of  her  size. 

"  Killed  a  few  rt^bins  ;   well,  what  of  that  ? 
What's  virtue  in  man  can't  be  vice  in  a  cat. 
There's  a  thing  or  two  /  should  like  to  know  : 
Who  kille<l  the  chicken  a  week  ago. 
For  nothing  at  all  that  I  could  spy. 
But  to  make  an  overgrown  chicken  pie  ? 

'Twixt  you  aiul  me, 

'Tis  plain  to  see, 
The  odds  is,  you  like  fricassee, 


BOTH   SIDES.  43 

AVliilo  my  brave  maw 
Owns  no  such  law, 
Content  with  viands  d-la-vaw. 

"  WIio  killed  the  robins  ?     0,  yes  !  0,  yes  I 
I  would  get  the  cat  now  into  a  mess  1 

Who  was  it  put 

An  old  stocking-foot, 

Tied  up  with  strings 

And  such  shabby  things, 
On  to  tlic  end  of  a  sharp,  slender  pole. 
Dipped  it  in  oil,  and  set  fire  to  the  whole, 
And  burnt  all  the  way  from  here  to  the  miller's 
The  nests  of  the  sweet  young  caterpillars  J' 

Grilled  fowl,  indeed  ! 

Why,  as  I  read, 
You  had  not  even  the  plea  of  need  ; 

For  all  you  boast 

Such  wholesale  roast, 
I  saw  no  sign,  at  tea  or  toast, 
Of  even  a  caterpillar's  ghost. 

"  Who  killed  the  robins  ?     Well,  I  ahould  think  I 

Hadn't  somebody  better  wink 

At  my  peccadilloes,  if  houses  of  glass 

AVon't  do  to  throw  stones  from  at  those  who  pass  ? 

I  had  four  little  kittens  a  month  ago,  — 

Black,  and  Malta,  and  white  as  suow  ; 

And  not  a  very  long  while  before 

I  could  have  shown  yuu  three  kittens  more. 

And  so  in  batches  of  fours  and  threes, 

Looking  back  as  long  as  you  please. 

You  wouhl  find,  if  you  read  my  story  all. 

There  were  kittens  from  time  innnemoriul. 

"  But  what  am  I  now  ?     A  cat  bereft. 

Of  all  my  kittens,  but  one  is  left. 

I  make  no  charges,  but  this  I  ask  : 

AVhat  made  such  a  splurge  iu  the  waste-water  cask  ? 


44  YOUNG  folks'  READrS'GS. 

You  are  quite  tender-hearted.     0,  not  a  doubt  ! 
But  only  suppose  old  Black  Pond  could  speak  out. 
0,  bother  !  don't  mutter  excuses  to  me  : 
Qui  facit  per  alium  facit  per  se." 

"  Well,  Kitty,  I  think  full  enough  has  been  said. 

And  the  best  thing  for  you  is,  go  straight  back  to  bed. 

A  very  fine  pass 

Things  have  come  to,  my  lass, 

If  men  must  be  meek 

"While  pussy-cats  speak 
Grave  moral  reflections  in  Latin  and  Greek  1 " 

Gail  Hamiltoh. 


THE  WORSTED   STOCKING. 

"  "PATHER  will  have  done  the  great  chimney  to-night 

1  —  won't  he,  mother  ?  "  said  little  Tom  Howard, 
as  he  stood  waiting  for  his  father's  breakfast,  which  he 
carried  to  him  at  his  work  every  morning. 

"  He  said  he  hoped  all  the  scaffolding  would  be  down 
to-night,"  answered  his  mother,  "  and  that'll  be  a  fine 
sight ;  for  I  never  like  the  ending  of  those  great  chim- 
neys, it's  so  risky.     Thy  father's  to  be  the  last  up." 

"  Eh,  then,  but  I'll  go  and  see  him,  and  help  'em  to 
give  a  shout  afore  he  comes  down,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  then,"  continued  his  mother,  "  if  all  goes 
right,  we  are  to  have  a  frolic  to-morrow,  and  go  into 
the  country,  and  take  our  dinners,  and  spend  all  the 
day  amongst  the  woods." 

"  Hurrah  !"  cried  Tom,  as  he  ran  off  to  his  father's 
place  of  work  with  a  can  of  milk  in  one  hand  and  some 
bread  in  the  other.  His  mother  stood  at  the  door  as 
ho  went  merrily  whistling  down  the  street ;  and  then 
she  thought  of  the  dear  father  he  was  going  to,  and 


THE   WORSTED   STOCKING.  45 

the  dangerous  work  he  was  engaged  in  ;  and  then  her 
heart  sought  its  sure  refuge,  and  she  prayed  to  God 
to  protect  and  bless  her  treasures. 

Tom,  with  a  light  heart,  pursued  his  way  to  his 
fiither,  and  leaving  him  his  breakfast,  went  to  his 
own  work,  which  was  at  some  distance.  In  the  even- 
ing, on  his  way  home,  he  went  round  to  see  how  his 
father  was  getting  on.  James  Howard,  the  father, 
and  a  number  of  other  workmen  had  been  building 
one  of  those  lofty  chimneys,  which,  in  our  great  manu- 
facturing towns,  almost  supply  the  place  of  other  archi- 
tectural beauty.  This  chimney  was  one  of  tlie  highest 
and  most  tapering  that  had  ever  been  erected ;  and  as 
Tom,  shading  his  eyes  from  the  slanting  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  looked  up  to  the  top  in  search  of  his 
father,  his  heart  almost  sank  within  him  at  the  appall- 
ing height.  The  scaffolding  was  almost  all  down;  the 
men  at  the  bottom  were  removing  the  last  beams  and 
poles.  Tom's  father  stood  alone  on  the  top.  He 
looked  all  round  to  see  that  everything  was  right, 
and  then,  waving  his  hat  in  the  air,  the  men  below 
answered  him  with  a  long,  loud  cheer,  little  Tom 
shouting  as  heartily  as  any  of  them.  As  their  voices 
died  away,  however,  they  heard  a  very  different  sound 
—  a  cry  of  alarm  and  horror  from  above  :  "  The  rope ! 
the  rope  ! " 

The  men  looked  round,  and  coiled  upon  tlie  ground 
lay  the  rope,  which,  before  the  scaffolding  w^as  re- 
moved, should  have  been  passed  over  the  top  of  the 
cliimney  for  Tom's  father  to  come  down  by.  The 
scaffolding  had  been  taken  down  without  their  remem- 
bering to  take  the  rope  up.  There  was  a  dead  silence. 
They  all  knew  it  was  impossible  to  throw  the  rope  up 


46  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

liigh  enough  or  skilfully  enough  to  reach  the  top  of 
the  chimney  ;  or  if  it  could,  it  would  hardly  have  been 
safe.  They  stood  in  silent  dismay,  unable  to  give  any 
help,  or  think  of  any  means  of  safety. 

And  Tom's  father  !  He  walked  round  and  round 
the  little  circle,  the  dizzy  height  seeming  every  mo- 
ment to  grow  more  fearful,  and  the  solid  earth  far- 
ther and  farther  from  him.  In  the  sudden  panic  ho 
lost  his  presence  of  mind,  and  his  senses  almost  failed 
him.  lie  shut  his  eyes  ;  he  felt  as  if  the  next  moment 
he  must  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  ground  below. 

The  day  had  passed  as  industriously  and  swiftly  as 
usual  with  Tom's  mother  at  home.  She  was  always 
busily  employed  for  her  husband  and  children  in  some 
way  or  other,  and  to-day  she  had  been  harder  at  work 
than  usual,  getting  ready  for  the  holiday  to-morrow. 
She  had  just  finished  all  her  preparations,  and  her 
thoughts  were  silently  thanking  God  for  her  happy 
liome  and  for  all  the  blessings  of  life,  when  Tom  ran 
in.  His  face  was  as  white  as  ashes,  and  he  could 
hardly  get  his  words  out :  "  Mother  1  mother !  ho 
canna  get  down  !  " 

"  Who,  lad  ?     Thy  father  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"They've  forgotten  to  leave  him  the  rope,"  answered 
Tom,  still  scarcely  able  to  speak.  His  mother  started 
up  horror-struck,  and  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  para- 
lyzed ;  then,  pressing  her  hands  over  her  face,  as  if 
to  shut  out  the  terrible  picture,  and  breathing  a  prayer 
to  God  for  help,  she  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

When  she  reached  the  place  where  her  husband 
was  at  work,  a  crowd  IkmI  collected  round  the  foot 
of  the  chimney,  Jind  stood  there  quite  helpless,  gaz- 
ing up  with   faces  full  of  horror.      "  He   says   he'll 


I'lIE   WORSTED   STOCKING.  47 

throw  himself  down,"  exclaimed  they,  as  Mrs.  How- 
ard came  up.     "  lie's  going  to  throw  himself  down." 

"  Thee  munna  do  that,  lad,"  cried  the  wife,  with 
clear,  hopeful  voice.  "  Thee  munna  do  that.  Wait 
a  bit.  Tak'  off  thy  stocking,  lad,  and  unravel  it,  and 
let  down  the  tln-ead  with  a  bit  of  mortar.  Dost  hear 
me,  Jem  ?  " 

The  man  made  a  sign  of  assent,  for  it  seemed  as  if 
he  could  not  speak;  and,  taking  off  his  stocking,  un- 
ravelled the  worsted  thread,  row  after  row.  The  peo- 
ple stood  round  in  breathless  silence  and  suspense, 
wondering  wdiat  Tom's  mother  could  be  thinking  of, 
and  why  she  sent  in  such  haste  for  the  carpenter's 
ball  of  twine. 

"  Let  down  one  end  of  the  thread  with  a  bit  of 
stone,  and  keep  fast  hold  of  the  other,"  cried  she  to 
her  husband.  The  little  thread  came  waving  down 
the  tall  chimney,  blown  hither  and  thither  by  the 
wind ;  but  at  last  it  reached  the  outstretched  hands 
that  were  waiting  for  it.  Tom  held  the  ball  of  string 
Avhile  his  mother  tied  one  eiid  of  it  to  the  worsted 
thread.  "  Now,  pull  it  up  slowly,"  cried  she  to  her 
husband.  And  she  gradually  unwound  the  string  as 
the  worsted  drew  it  gently  up.  It  stopped  —  the 
string  had  reached  her  husband.  "  Now,  hold  the 
string  fast  and  pull  it  u]),"  cried  she.  And  the  string 
grew  heavy  and  hard  to  pull,  for  Tom  and  his  mother 
had  fastened  the  thick  rope  to  it.  They  watched  it 
gradually  and  slowly  uncoiling  from  the  ground,  as  the 
string  was  drawn  higher. 

There  was  but  one  coil  left.  It  had  reached  tho 
top.  "  Thank  God  !  Thank  God  !  "  exclaimed  the 
wife.      She    hid    her   face    in    her   hands  —  in    silent 


48  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

prayer,  and  tremblingly  rejoiced.  The  rope  was  up. 
The  iron  to  which  it  should  be  fastened  was  there 
all  rig-lit ;  but  would  her  husband  be  able  to  make  use 
of  them  ?  Would  not  the  terror  of  the  last  hour  have 
so  unnerved  him  as  to  prevent  him  from  taking  the 
necessary  measures  for  his  safety  ?  She  did  not  know 
the  magic  influence  which  her  few  words  had  exer- 
cised over  him.  She  did  not  know  the  strength  that 
the  sound  of  her  voice,  so  calm  and  steadfast,  had  filled 
him  with  ;  as  if  the  little  thread  that  carried  him  the 
hope  of  life  once  more  had  conveyed  to  him  some  por- 
tion of  that  faith  which  nothing  ever  destroyed  or 
shook  in  her  true  heart.  She  did  not  know  that,  as 
he  waited  there,  the  words  came  over  him,  "  Why  art 
thou  cast  down,  0  my  soul  ?  and  why  art  thou  dis- 
quieted within  me  ?     Hope  thou  in  God." 

There  was  a  great  shout.  "  He's  safe,  mother ;  he's 
safe  !  "  cried  little  Tom. 

'*  Thou'st  saved  me,  Mary  ! "  said  her  husband,  fold- 
ing her  in  his  arms.  "  But  what  ails  thee  ?  Thou 
seem'st  more  sorry  than  glad  about  it ! " 

But  Mary  could  not  speak,  and  if  the  strong  arm 
of  her  husband  had  not  held  her  up,  she  would  have 
fallen  to  the  ground.  The  sudden  joy,  after  such  great 
fear,  had  overcome  her. 

"  Tom,"  said  his  father,  "  let  thy  mother  lean  on  thy 
shoulder,  and  we  will  take  her  home."  And  in  their 
happy  home  they  poured  forth  their  thanks  to  God  for 
liis  great  goodness  ;  and  their  happy  life  together  felt 
dearer  and  holier  for  the  peril  it  had  been  in,  and  for 
the  nearness  that  the  danger  had  brought  them  unto 
God.  And  the  holiday,  next  day — was  it  not  a 
thanksgiving  day  ? 


THE   STORY    OF   THE   LITTLE    RID    HIN.  49 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  LITTLE  RID   HIN. 

THERE  was  once't  upon  a  time 
A  little  small  rid  hin 
Off  in  the  good  ould  country 
Where  yees  ha'  nivir  bin. 

Nice  and  quiet  shure  she  was, 
And  nivir  did  any  harrum  ; 

She  lived  alane  all  be  herself, 
And  worked  upon  her  farrum. 

There  lived  out-o'er  the  hill. 

In  a  great  din  o'  rocks, 
A  crafty,  shly,  and  wicked 

Ould  folly  iv  a  fox. 

This  rashkill  iv  a  fox. 

He  tuk  it  in  his  head 
He'd  have  the  little  rid  hin  ; 

So,  whin  he  wint  to  bed. 

He  laid  awake  and  thaught, 
What  a  ioine  thing  'twad  be 

To  fetch  her  home,  and  bile  her  up 
For  his  ould  marm  and  he. 

And  so  he  thaught  and  thaught, 

Until  he  grew  so  thin 
That  there  was  nothin'  left  of  him 

But  jist  his  bones  and  shkin. 

But  the  small  rid  hin  was  wise  ; 

She  always  locked  her  door, 
And  in  her  pocket  pit  the  kej'. 

To  keep  the  fox  out,  shure. 
4 


50  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

But  at  last  there  came  a  schame 

Into  his  wicked  head  ; 
And  so  he  tuk  a  great  big  bag, 

And  to  his  mither  said,  — 

"  Now  have  the  pot  all  bilin' 

Agin  the  time  I  come  ; 
We'll  ate  the  small  rid  hin  to-night, 

For  shure  I'll  bring  her  home." 

And  so  away  he  wint 

Wid  the  bag  upon  his  back, 

An'  up  the  hill  and  through  the  woods 
Softly  he  made  his  thrack. 

And  thin  he  came  alang, 
Craping  as  slitill's  a  mouse, 

To  where  the  little  small  rid  hin 
Lived  in  her  shnug  ould  house. 

An'  out  she  comes  hersel', 

Jist  as  he  got  in  sight, 
To  pick  up  shticks  to  make  her  fire. 

"  Aha  I  "  says  fox,  "  all  right. 

"  Begorra,  now,  I'll  have  yees 
Widout  much  throuble  more  ;  " 

An'  in  lie  slilips  quite  unbeknownst. 
An'  hides  be'ind  the  door. 

An'  tliin  a  minute  afthcr. 
In  comes  the  small  rid  hin. 

An'  shuts  the  door,  an'  locks  it,  too. 
An'  thinks,  "  I'm  safely  in." 

An'  thin  she  tarns  around. 
An'  looks  bfliind  the  door  ; 

Thare  shtands  the  fox  wid  his  big  tail 
Shpread  out  upon  the  floor. 


THE   STORY    OP   THE   LITTLE    lUD    HIX.  51 

Dear  mc  !  she  was  so  scharcd 

Wid  such  a  wondrous  sight, 
She  dropped  her  aprouful  of  shticks, 

Au'  fJew  up  iu  a  friglit, 

An'  lighted  on  tlio  baine 

Across  on  top  the  room  ; 
"  Aha  !  "  says  she,  "  ye  don't  have  me  ; 

Ye  may  as  well  go  home." 

"  Aha  !  "  says  fox,  "  we'll  see  ; 

I'll  bring  yees  down  from  that." 
So  out  he  marched  upon  the  floor 

Eight  under  where  she  sat. 

An'  thin  he  whiruled  around, 

Au'  round,  an'  round,  an'  round, 
Fashter,  an'  fashter,  an'  fashter, 

Afther  his  tail  on  the  ground. 

Until  the  small  rid  hin 

She  got  so  dizz}^,  shure, 
Wid  lookin'  at  the  fox's  tail. 

She  jist  dropped  on  the  floor. 

An'  fox,  he  whipped  her  up. 

An'  pit  her  in  liis  bag, 
An'  off  he  started  all  alone, 

Ilim  and  his  little  dag. 

All  day  he  tracked  the  wood, 

Up  hill  an'  down  again  ; 
And  wid  him,  schmothrin'  in  the  bag, 

The  little  small  rid  hin. 

Sorra  a  know  she  knowed 

Awhcre  she  was  that  day  ; 
Saj's  she,  "  Tm  biled  an'  ate  up,  shure. 

An'  what'll  bo  to  pay  ?  " 


52  YOUNG  polks'  readings. 

Thiu  she  betho't  hersel', 

An'  tuk  hor  scliissors  out, 
An'  schnipped  a  big  hole  in  the  bag", 

So  she  could  look  about. 

An'  'fore  ould  fox  could  think 
She  lept  right  out  —  she  did, 

An*  thin  picked  up  a  great  big  shtone 
An'  popped  it  in  instid  ; 

An'  thin  she  rins  off  home  ; 

Her  outside  door  she  locks  ; 
Thinks  she,  "  You  see  you  don't  have  me, 

You  crafty,  shiy  ould  fox." 

An'  fox,  he  tugged  away 

Wid  the  great  big  liivy  shtone 

Thimpin'  his  shoulders  very  bad 
As  he  wint  in  alone. 

An'  whin  he  came  in  sight 

0'  his  great  din  o'  rocks, 
Jist  watchin'  for  him  at  the  door 

lie  shpied  ould  mither  fox. 

"  Ilave  ye  the  pot  a-bilin'  ?  " 

Says  he  to  ould  fox  thin  ; 
"  Sliure  an'  it  is,  me  child,"  says  she ; 

"  Have  ye  the  small  rid  hin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  jist  here  in  me  bag, 
As  shure  as  I  shtand  here  ; 

Open  the  lid  till  I  pit  her  in  : 
Open  it  —  niver  fear." 

So  the  rashkill  cut  the  shtring, 

An'  hild  the  big  bag  over  ; 
"  Now  when  I  shake  it  in,"  says  he, 

Do  ye  pit  on  the  cover." 


THE   KING   AND    THE   LOCUSTS.  53 

"  Yis,  that  I  will  ;  "  an'  thin 

The  shtone  wiut  in  wid  a  dash, 
An'  the  pot  o'  boilin'  wathor 

Came  over  them  kor-splash. 

An'  schalted  'em  both  to  death, 
So  they  couldn't  brathe  no  more  ; 

An'  the  little  small  rid  hin  lived  safe, 
Jist  where  she  lived  before. 


THE  KING  AND   THE  LOCUSTS. 

A   STORY   WITHOUT   AN   END. 

THERE  was  a  certain  king,  who,  like  many  other 
kings,  was  very  fond  of  licaring  stories  told.  To 
this  amusement  he  gave  up  all  his  time  ;  but  yet  he 
was  never  satisfied.  All  the  exertions  of  all  his  cour- 
tiers were  in  vain.  The  more  he  heard,  the  more  he 
wanted  to  hear.  At  last  he  made  a  proclamation,  that 
if  any  man  would  tell  him  a  story  that  should  last  for- 
ever, he  would  make  him  his  heir,  and  give  him  the 
princess,  his  daughter,  in  marriage  ;  but  if  any  one 
should  pretend  that  he  had  such  a  story,  but  should 
fail,  —  tliat  is,  if  the  story  did  come  to  an  end,  —  he 
was  to  have  his  head  chopped  off. 

For  such  a  rich  prize  as  a  beautiful  princess  and  a 
kingdom  many  candidates  appeared  ;  and  dreadfully 
long  stories  some  of  them  told.  Some  lasted  a  week, 
some  a  month,  some  six  months  :  poor  fellows  !  they  all 
spun  them  out  as  long  as  they  possibly  could,  you  may 
be  sure  ;  but  all  in  vain  ;  sooner  or  later  they  all  came 
to  an  end ;  and,  one  after  another,  the  unlucky  story- 
tellers had  their  heads  chopped  off. 


54  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

At  last  came  a  man  wlio  said  that  he  had  a  story 
which  would  last  forever,  if  his  majesty  would  be 
pleased  to  give  him  a  trial. 

He  was  warned  of  his  danger :  they  told  him  how 
many  others  had  tried,  and  lost  their  heads  ;  but  he 
said  he  was  not  afraid,  and  so  he  was  brought  before 
the  king.  He  was  a  man  of  a  very  composed  and 
deliberate  manner  of  speaking  ;  and,  after  making  all 
requisite  stipulations  for  time  for  his  eating,  drinking, 
and  sleeping,  he  thus  began  his  story :  — 

''  0  king  !  tliere  was  once  a  king  who  was  a  great 
tyrant.  And,  desiring  to  increase  his  riches,  he  seized 
upon  all  the  corn  and  grain  in  liis  kingdom,  and  put  it 
into  an  immense  granary,  which  he  built  on  purpose, 
as  high  as  a  mountain. 

"  This  he  did  for  several  years,  till  the  granary  was 
quite  full  up  to  the  top.  He  then  stopped  up  doors 
and  windows,  and  closed  it  up  fast  on  all  sides. 

"  But  the  bricklayers  had,  by  accident,  left  a  very 
small  hole  near  the  top  of  the  granary.  And  there 
came  a  fliglit  of  locusts,  and  tried  to  get  .xt  the  corn ; 
but  the  hole  was  so  small  that  only  one  locust  could 
pass  through  it  at  a  time.  So  one  locust  went  in  and 
carried  off  one  grain  of  corn  ;  and  then  another  locust 
went  in  and  carried  off  another  grain  of  corn ;  and  then 
another  locust  went  in  and  carried  off  another  grain  of 
corn ;  and  then  another  locust  went  in  and  carried  off 
another  grain  of  corn  ;  and  then  another  locust  went  in 
and  carried  off  another  grain  of  corn ;  and  then  another 
locust  went  in  and  carried  oil'  another  grain  of  corn'; 
and  then  another  locust  went  in  and  carried  off  another 
grain  of  corn  —  " 

He  had  gone  on  thus  from  morning  to  night  (ex- 


THE   KING    AND    THE    LOCUSTS.  55 

cept  while  he  was  engaged  at  his  meals)  for  about  a 
month ;  when  the  king,  though  a  very  patient  king, 
began  to  bo  rather  tired  of"  the  locusts,  and  inter- 
rupted his  story  with :  "  "Well,  well,  wo  have  had 
enough  of  the  locusts ;  we  will  suppose  that  they 
have  helped  themselves  to  all  the  corn  they  wanted ; 
tell  us  what  happened  afterwards."  To  which  the 
story-teller  answered,  very  deliberately,  "  If  it  please 
your  majesty,  it  is  impossible  to  tell  you  what  hap- 
pened afterwards  before  I  have  told  you  what  hap- 
pened first."  And  so  he  went  on  again :  "  And  then 
another  locust  went  in  and  carried  olF  another  grain 
of  corn  ;  and  then  another  locust  went  in  and  carried 
off  another  grain  of  corn  ;  and  then  another  locust  went 
in  and  carried  off  another  grain  of  corn."  The  king 
listened  with  admirable  patience  six  montlis  more, 
when  he  again  interrupted  him  with :  "  0  friend,  I 
am  weary  of  your  locusts  !  How  soon  do  you  think 
they  will  have  done?"  To  which  the  story-teller 
made  answer  :  "  0  king,  who  can  tell  ?  At  the  time 
to  which  my  story  has  come,  the  locusts  have  cleared 
away  a  small  space,  it  may  be  a  cubit,  each  way  round 
tlie  inside  of  the  hole  ;  and  the  air  is  still  dark  witli 
locusts  on  all  sides ;  but  let  the  king  have  patience, 
and,  no  doubt,  we  shall  come  to  the  end  of  them  in 
time." 

Thus  encouraged,  tlic  king  listened  on  for  another 
full  year,  the  story-teller  still  going  on  as  belbre : 
"  And  then  another  locust  went  in  and  carried  oiV 
another  grain  of  corn  ;  and  then  another  locust  went 
in  and  carried  off  another  grain  of  corn  ;  and  then 
another  locust  went  in  and  carried  off  another  grain 
of  corn,"  till  at  last  the  poor  king  could  bear  it  no 


56  YOUNG  polks'  readings. 

longer,  and  cried  out,  "  0  man,  that  is  enough  !  Take 
my  daughter  !  take  my  kingdom  !  take  anything  — 
take  everything  !  only  let  us  hear  no  more  of  those 
abominable  locusts  ! " 

And  so  the  story-teller  was  married  to  the  king's 
daughter,  and  was  declared  heir  to  the  throne  ;  and 
nobody  ever  expressed  a  wish  to  hear  the  rest  of  his 
story,  for  he  said  it  was  impossible  to  come  to  the 
other  part  of  it  till  he  had  done  with  the  locusts. 
The  unreasonable  caprice  of  the  foolish  king  was 
thus  overmatched  by  the  ingenious  device  of  the 
wise  man. 


GRIPER   GREG. 

GRIPER  GREG,  of  the  village  of  Willoughby  Waterless, 
A  miserly  hunks  who  was  soilless  and  daughterless, 
Nieceless  and  ncphewless,  why  did  he  liastc  to  lay 
Gold  in  queer  corners  for  strangers  to  waste  away  ? 

Were  there  no  claimants  upon  his  cold  charity  — 
Poor  fellow-creatures  heart-void  of  hilarity  — 

Fatherless,  motherless, 

Si.storlcss,  brotliorlcss, 

Ilusbaiullcss,  wifeless, 

Forkless  and  knileloss, 
Dinnerloss,  supperloss  wretches,  to  pray  or  beg  ? 
None  in  his  ncig'liborhood,  loudly  to  say  to  Greg: 
"  Stone-heiirted  miser,  heh(jl(l  you,  we  perish  ! 
Give  U8  some  victuals,  our  faint  Irames  to  cherish  "  ? 

Yes,  there  were  orphans,  Tom,  Jack,  Dick,  and  Ned, 
Lean,  tiny  creatures,  ill  elothed  and  worse  fed  ; 
Widows  there  were,  Dinah,  Ruth,  Priie,  and  Kate, 
Bearers  alike  of  the  hard  blows  of  Fate  ; 


GRIPER   GREG.  57 

Old  pauper  Will,  too,  who  travelled  on  crutclios, 
With  mouth  pulled  aside  b^'  neural^-ical  clutches, 
And  limbs  drawn  awry  by  rheumatical  twitches, 
Bewrapped  in  old  blankets,  without  coat  or  breeches,  — 
No  sister,  no  daughter,  no  wile,  to  take  care  of  him  ; 
The  very  dogs   barked,   "  Bow-wow  !     Beggar  !  beware 
of  him  ! " 

And  many  more  hunger-bit,  tatter-clad  sorrowers. 
Fain  would  have  been  relieved,  beggars  or  borrowers. 
At  Griper  Greg's  door,  where  they  often  cried  piteousiy  ; 
But  Greg  —  he  grinned   fiercely,  and  frowned  on  them 
viciously. 

One  day,  the  snow  fell  thick  and  fast. 

One  drear  midwinter's  day  ; 
And  Greg  was  out  upon  the  waste 

That  round  his  cottage  lay. 

No  sight  was  there,  except  the  snow. 

Upon  tlie  wild,  wide  moor  ; 
And  in  Greg's  heart  began  to  grow 
Stern,  .deadly  self-accusings,  how 

He'd  used  the  houseless  poor. 
"  If  1  die  here,"  Greg  wildly  cried, 

"  My  soul's  forever  lost  1 
Had  I  my  gold  here  by  my  side, 

It  would  not  pay  the  cost 
To  ransom  me  from  endless  pain  ! 
0  I  could  I  reach  my  home  again, 
I'd  give  to  every  suffering  fellow 
Whiskey  enough  to  make  him  mellow." 

"  They  arc   good  words  yc've  said  !  "  cried  beggarman 

Pat, 
Who  wandered,  all  weathers,  without  coat  or  hat, 
Upon  the  wide  waste,  and  now  chanced  to  be  near 
Enough  to  the  miser,  his  hcart-griuf  to  hear ; 


58  YOuxG  folks'  readings. 

"  They  are  good  words   ye'vo  said  ;   and   no   better  by 

preacher 
Were  ever  delivered  about  the  dear  crayture  ; 
Make  nie  melh)w  witli  him,  and  no  ill  shall  betide  ye, 
For  to  Willuug-hby  Waterless  safely  I'll  guide  ye  ! " 

"  0,  joy!"   shouted  Greg,   "guide  me  home  from  the 

waste, 
And  the  sweetest  of  mutton  this  night  ye  shall  taste  !  " 
"  Bad  luck  to  your  mutton  !  be't  sweeter  than  candy, 
'Tis  wormwood  compared  with  strong  whiskey  or  brandy!" 
"Then  I'll  fill  ye  with  brandy,"  cried  Greg,  in  grim  fear 
Tliat  if  he  refused  he  would  perish,  left  here. 
So  home  sped  the  miser  by  beggar  Pat  guided. 
And  home  safely  reached  —  but,  there,  ill  Greg  betided. 

Griper  Greg,  all  a-cold,  shared  the  brandy  with  Pat 
Till  discretion  and  safety  he  wholly  forgat,  , 

And  joked  of  his  gold  huddled  up  in  sly  corners. 
To  hide  it  from  burglars  by  night,  and  day's  corners. 
Sleep  seized  him  so  nimbly,  he  stopped  in  his  story. 
And  Pat  —  wide  awake  then  —  was  quite  in  his  glory. 
And  soon  picked  the  locks,  and  was  off  with  the  plunder. 
Greg  waked  the  next  morning  with  sore  grief  and  wonder 
To  find  the  noon  passed  while  he  had  been  sleeping  ; 
Then  looked  for  his  gold,  and  forthwith  fell  to  weeping. 
"  0,    it's    gone  —  it's    all    gone  !     and    the    curses    it's 

brought  me 
Might  all  have  been  saved,  if  I'd  oidy  bethought  me 
Of  sweet  love  and  kindness,  and  had  friends  about  me ; 
For  then  on  the  heatii  they  would  surely  have  sought  me. 
P.ut  to  scrape  and  to  save  has  been  always  my  plan, 
And  so  nobody  loves  ine  —  a  wretelied  old  man  !" 
]\Fcanwhile  the  thief-beggannan  far  off  was  drinking 
With  horrid  companions,  and,  cunningly  winking. 
Said,  "  Look  here,  my  boys  !  when  yer  handle  yer  tools, 
Always  try  'em  on  misers,  for  misers  is  fools!" 


THE    CHILORKN.  59 


THE   CHILDREN. 

WHEN  tlio  lessons  and  tasks  are  all  ended, 
And  the  school  for  the  day  is  dismissed, 
And  the  little  ones  g'ather  around  me 

To  bid  mc  g-ood  night  and  be  kissed  ; 
0,  the  little  white  arms  tliat  encircle 

My  neck  in  a  tender  embrace  1 
0,  the  smiles  that  arc  halos  of  heaven. 
Shedding  sunshine  of  love  on  my  face  ! 

And  when  they  are  gone,  I  sit  dreaming 

Of  my  childhood,  too  lovely  to  last ; 
Of  love  that  my  heart  will  remember, 

When  it  wakes  to  the  pulse  of  the  past. 
Ere  the  world  and  its  wickedness  made  mo 

A  partner  of  sorrow  and  sin  ; 
When  the  glory  of  God  was  about  me, 

And  the  glory  of  gladness  within. 

0,  my  heart  grows  weak  as  a  woman's, 

And  the  fountains  of  feeling  will  flow, 
When  1  think  of  the  paths  steep  and  stony, 

Where  the  feet  of  the  dear  ones  must  go ; 
Of  the  mountains  of  sin  hanging  o'er  them, 

Of  tlie  tempest  of  Fate  blowing  wild  ; 
0,  tliere  is  nothing  on  earth  half  so  holy 

As  the  innocent  heart  of  a  child  ! 

They  are  idols  of  hearts  and  of  households  ; 

They  are  ang(>ls  of  (Jod  in  disguise  ; 
His  sunlight  still  sleeps  in  their  tresses, 

His  glory  still  gleams  in  their  e.yes. 
0,  those  truants  from  home  and  fit 'in  hoaveii, 

They  have  made  me  more  manly  and  mild  ! 
And  1  know  how  Jesus  could  liken 

The  kingdom  of  God  to  a  child. 


60  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

I  ask  not  a  life  for  the  dear  ones, 

All  radiant,  as  others  have  done, 
Ikit  that  life  may  have  just  enough  shadow 

To  temper  tlie  glare  of  the  sun  ; 
I  would  pray  God  to  guard  them  from  evil. 

But  my  prayer  would  bound  back  to  myself; 
Ah  !   a  sera}))!  may  pray  for  a  sinner, 

But  a  sinner  must  pray  for  himself. 

The  twig  is  so  easily  bended, 

I  have  banished  the  rule  and  the  rod  ; 
I  have  taught  them  the  goodness  of  knowledge, 

They  have  taught  me  the  goodness  of  God. 
My  heart  is  a  dungeon  of  darkness. 

Where  I  shut  them  from  breaking  a  rule  ; 
My  frown  is  sufficient  correction  ; 

M^i"  love  is  the  law  of  the  school. 

I  shall  leave  the  old  house  in  the  autumn, 

To  traverse  its  threshold  no  more  ; 
Ah  !  how  I  shall  sigh  for  the  dear  ones 

That  meet  me  each  morn  at  the  door  ! 
I  shall  miss  tlie  "good  nights"  and  the  kisses. 

And  the  gush  of  their  innocent  glee. 
The  group  on  the  green,  and  the  flowers 

That  are  brought  every  morning  to  me. 

I  shall  miss  them  at  morn  and  at  eve, 

Tlieii-  song  in  tlio  school  and  the  street; 
I  shall  miss  the  low  iiuni  of  their  voices, 

And  the  tramp  of  their  delicate  feet. 
When  the  lessons  and  tasks  are  all  ended. 

And  Death  says,  "  The  school  is  dismissed  1  " 
May  the  little  ones  gather  around  me, 

To  bid  me  good  niglit  and  be  kissed. 

Dickinson. 


THE    EAGLE   AND    THE   SPIDER.  61 


THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  SPIDER. 

AN  eagle  had  soared  above  the  clouds  to  the  loftiest 
peak  of  the  Caucasus.  There,  on  an  ancient  cedar, 
it  settled,  and  admired  the  landscape  visible  at  its  feet. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  borders  of  the  world  could  be  seen 
from  tlience.  Here  flowed  rivers,  winding  across  the 
plains  ;  there  stood  woods  and  meadows,  adorned  with 
the  full  garb  of  spring;  and,  beyond,  frowned  the  angry 
Caspian  Sea,  black  as  a  raven's  wing. 

"  Praise  be  to  thee,  0  Jove,  that,  as  ruler  of  the 
world,  thou  hast  bestowed  on  me  such  powers  of 
flight  that  I  know  of  no  heights  to  me  inaccessible," 
—  thus  the  eagle  addressed  Jupiter,  —  "  insomuch 
that  I  now  look  upon  the  beauties  of  the  world  :from 
a  point  whither  no  other  being  has  flown." 

"  What  a  boaster  you  are  !  "  replies  a  spider  to  it 
from  a  twig.  "As  I  sit  here,  am  I  lower  than  you, 
comrade  ?  " 

The  eagle  looks  up.  Truly  enough,  tiie  spider  is 
busy  spinning  its  web  about  a  twig  overhead,  just  as 
if  it  wanted  to  sliut  out  the  suiiliglit  from  the  eagle. 

"  How  did  you  get  up  to  this  height  ?  "  asked  the 
eagle.  "  Even  among  the  strongest  of  Aving  there  are 
some  who  would  not  dare  to  trust  themselves  here. 
But  you,  weak  and  Avingless,  is  it  possible  you  can 
have  crawled  here  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't  use  that  means  of  rising  aloft." 

"  Well,  then,  how  did  you  get  liere  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  just  fastened  myself  on  to  you,  and  you 
brought  me  yourself  from  down  below  on  your  tail- 
feathers.     But  I  know  how  to  maintain  my  position 


G2  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

here  -witlioTit  yonr  liclp,  so  I  beg  you  will  not  assume 
such  airs  in  my  presence  ;  for  know  that  I  —  " 

At  this  moment  a  gust  of  wind  comes  suddenly 
flying  by,  and  whirls  away  the  spider  again  into  the 
lowest  depths. 

A  Krilof. 


NEVER   GIVE  UP. 

NEVER  give  up  !     It  is  wiser  and  better 
Always  to  liopo,  than  once  to  despair  ; 
Fling  off  the  load  of  doubt's  cankering  fetter, 
And  break  the  dark  spell  of  tyrannical  care. 
Never  give  np  !  or  the  burden  may  sink  you  ; 

Providence  kindly  has  mingled  the  cup  ; 
And  in  all  trials  and  troubles,  bethink  you, 

The  watchword  of  life  must  be,  "  Never  give  up ! " 

Never  give  up  !     There  are  chances  and  changes. 

Helping  the  hoixdul,  a  hundred  to  one  ; 
And,  through  the  chaos,  high  Wisdom  arranges 

Every  success,  if  you'll  only  hope  on. 
Never  give  up  !  for  the  wisest  is  boldest, 

Knowing  tliat  Providence  mingles  the  cup  ; 
And  of  all  maxims,  the  best,  as  the  oldest. 

Is  the  true  watchword  of,  "  Never  give  up  !  " 

Never  give  up  !     Though  the  grape-shot  may  rattle. 

Or  the  lull  thunder-cloud  over  you  burst ; 
Stan<l  like  :i  loek,  and  the  storm  and  the  battle 

Little  whall  liai'm  you,  thou<i;-h  doing  their  worst. 
Never  give  up  !      If  adversity  press(;s. 

Providence  wisely  has  mingled  the  cup  ; 
And  the  best  counsel,  in  all  your  distresses, 

Is  the  stout  watchword  of,  "  Never  give  up  !  " 

TlJl'l'KI!. 


KITTEN   GOSSIP.  G3 


KITTEN   GOSSIP. 

T^ITTEN,  kitten,  two  months  old, 
Iv    Woolly  snowball,  lying-  snug-, 
Curled  up  in  the  wavniest  fold 

Of  the  wunn  hearth-rug', 
Turn  your  drowsy  head  this  way. 
What  is  Life  ?     0,  kitten,  say  1 

"  Life  ?  "  said  the  kitten,  winking'  her  oycs, 
And  twitching-  her  tail  in  a  droll  surprise  — 
"  Life  ?     0,  it's  racing-  over  the  floor. 
Out  at  the  window  and  in  at  the  door  ; 

Now  on  the  chair-back,  now  on  the  table, 
'Mid  balls  of  cotton  and  skeins  of  silk. 
And  crumbs  of  sug'ar  and  jugs  of  milk, 

All  so  COS)'  and  comfortable. 
It's  patting'  the  little  dog's  ears,  and  leaping 
Konnd  him  and  over  him  while  he's  sleeping  — 
AVaking-  iiiin  up  in  a  sore  allrig-iit, 
Then  off  and  away  like  a  flash  of  light. 
Scouring  and  scampering  out  of  sight. 
Life  ?      0,  it's  rolling  over  and  over 
On  tlie  suiinner-green  turf  and  budding  clover  ; 
Chasing  the  shadows,  as  fast  as  they  run, 
Down  the  garden  jiaths  in  the  midday  sun. 
Prancing  and  gambolling-,  brave  and  bold. 
Climbing-  tlie  tree-stems,  scratching  the  mould. 
Thai's  life  ! "  said  the  kitten  two  months  old. 

Kitten,  kitten,  come  sit  on  my  knee, 

And  lithe  and  listen,  kitten,  to  me  ; 

One  by  one,  0,  one  by  one, 

The  sly,  swift  shadows  sweep  over  the  sun  — 

Daylight  dietli.  and  kittenhood's  done 

And,  kitten,  0,  tlu^  rain  and  the  wind  ! 


64  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

For  catliood  comotli,  with  careful  mind, 
And  grave  cat-duties  follow  behind, 
llark  !  there's  a  sound  you  cannot  hear  ; 
I'll  whisper  its  meaning  in  your  ear  : 

3Iice  ! 
(The  kitten  stared  with  her  great  green  eyes, 
And  twitched  her  tail  iii  a  queer  surprise)  — 

Mice  ! 
No  more  titbits  dainty  and  nice  ; 
No  more  mischief  and  no  more  play  ; 
But  watching  by  night  and  sleeping  by  day, 
Prowling  wherever  the  foe  doth  lurk  — 
Very  short  commons  and  very  sharp  work. 
And,  kitten,  0,  tlie  hail  and  the  thunder  — 
That's  a  blackish  cloud,  but  a  blacker's  under. 
Hark  !  hut  you'll  fall  from  my  knee  1  fear. 
When  1  whisper  that  awful  word  in  your  ear  — 

R-r-r-ralii ! 
(The  kitten's  heart  beat  with  great  pit-pats. 
But  her  whiskers  quivered,  and  from  their  sheath 
Flashed  out  the  sharp,  white,  pearly  teeth.) 

li-r-r-rats  ! 
The  scorn  of  dogs,  but  the  terror  of  cats  ; 
The  crudest  foes  and  the  fiercest  fighters  ; 
The  sauciest  thieves  and  the  sharpest  biters. 
But,  kitten,  I  see  you've  a  stoutish  heart ; 
So,  courage  !  and  play  an  honest  part  • 
Use  well  your  paws. 
And  strength(;n  your  claws, 
And  sharpen  your  teeth,  and  stretch  your  jaws  — 
Then  woe  to  the  tribes  of  pickers  and  stealers, 
Nibltlers  and  gnawers,  and  (!vil  dealers  ! 
I»ut  now  that  yow  know  life's  not  precisely 
The  thing  your  fancy  pictured  so  nicely, 
Of!'  and  away  !  race  over  the  floor, 
Out  (A'  the  window,  and  in  at  the  door  ; 
\ii)\\  in  the  turf,  and  bask  in  the  sun. 
Ere  night-time  cometh,  and  kittenhood's  done. 

T.  Wkstwood. 


JOHN   BURNS    OF   GETTYSBURG.  G5 


JOHN  BURNS  OF   GETTYSBURG. 

HAVE  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 
01'  Burns  of  Gettysburg-  ?     No  ?     Ah,  well 
Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 
Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns  : 
lie  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown,  — 
The  only  man  who  didn't  back  down 
When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town  • 
But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day. 
When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 
That  was  in  July,  sixty-three. 
The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 
Flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 
Baflfled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 
From  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 

I  might  tell  how,  but  the  day  before, 
John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage  door. 
Looking  down  the  village  street. 
Where,  in  the  shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 
lie  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kino, 
And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet ; 
Or,  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 
The  old  farm  gable,  lie  thought  it  turned 
The  milk  that  fell,  in  a  babbling  flood 
Lito  the  milk-pail,  red  as  blood  ! 
Or  bow  he  fancied  the  hum  of  bees 
Were  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 
But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 
Were  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 
Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns. 
Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  fine 
Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine,  — 
Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-ol-fact, 
Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 
6 


66  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

That  was  the  reason,  as  some  folks  say, 
lie  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  day. 

And  it  was  terrible.     On  the  right 

Kaged  for  hours  the  heady  fight, 

Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass,  — 

Pillieult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 

While  on  the  left  —  where  now  the  graves 

Undulate  like  the  living  waves 

That  all  that  day  unceasing  swept 

Up  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept  — 

Eound  shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades  ; 

Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades  ; 

Shattered  fences  here  and  there 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air ; 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare ; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 

Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain  ; 

The  cattle  bellowed  on  the  plain, 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns, 

Erect  and  lonely  stood  old  John  Burns. 

How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed  ? 

lie  wore  an  ancient  long  bufi"  vest, 

Yellow  as  saflVoii,  —  but  his  best ; 

And,  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast. 

Was  a  bright  blue  coat,  with  a  rolling  collar, 

And  largo  gilt  buttons,  —  size  of  a  dollar,  — 

^^'ith  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "  swaller.' 

lie  wore  a  brf)ad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat, 

White  as  llic  locks  on  which  it  sat. 

Never  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green. 

Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 

And  went  to  the  "  quiltings  "  long  ago. 


JOHN   BURNS   OP   GETTYSBURG.  G7 

Close  at  his  olbows  all  that  day, 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 

Sunburnt  and  bearded,  cliarged  away  ; 

And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin,  — 

Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in,  — 

Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore, 

Then  at  the  rille  his  right  hand  bore  ; 

And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 

AVith  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire : 

"  How  are  you,  AVhite  Hat!"   "Put  her  through  !" 

"  Your  head's  level !  "  and  "  Bully  for  you  !  " 

Called  him  "  Daddy,"  —  begged  he'd  disclose 

The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes, 

And  what  was  tlie  value  he  set  on  tliose  ; 

While  Burns,  nnmindlul  of  jeer  and  scoff, 

Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off,  — 

With  his  long  brown  rifle,  and  bell-crowned  hat, 

And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  for  that  respect 
Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked  ; 
And  something  the  wildest  could  understand 
Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand  ; 
And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 
Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown  ; 
Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  an  awe 
Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw, 
In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 
The  Past  of  tlie  Nation  in  battle  there  ; 
And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 
That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar. 
Like  the  crested  plume  of  the  brave  Navarre, 
That  day  was  their  orillarame  of  war. 

So  raged  the  battle.      You  know  the  rest : 
How  the  rebels,  beaten  and  backward  pressed, 
Broke  at  the  final  charge,  and  ran, 
At  which  John  Burns  —  a  practical  man  — 


68  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Shouldered  his  rifle,  unbent  his  brows, 
And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

Tliat  is  the  story  of  old  John  Burns  ; 

This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns  : 

In  lighting  the  battle,  the  question's  whether 

You'll  show  a  hat  that's  white,  or  a  feather  ! 

Bb£t  Haste. 


LILLTPUT   LEYEE. 

WHERE  does  Pinafore  Palace  stand  ? 
Right  in  the  middle  of  Lilliput-land  ! 
There  the  queen  eats  bread  and  honey, 
There  the  king  counts  up  his  money  1 

0,  the  glorious  revolution  ! 

0,  the  provisional  constitution  ! 

Now  the  children,  clever,  bold  folks, 

Have  turned  the  tables  upon  the  old  folks  1 

Easily  the  thing  was  done, 

For  the  children  were  more  than  two  to  one  ; 

Brave  as  lions,  quick  as  foxes, 

With  hoards  of  wealth  in  their  money-boxes  ! 

They  seized  tlio  keys  ;  they  patrolled  the  street ; 
They  drove  the  policeman  oil'  his  beat ; 
They  built  barricades  ;  they  stationed  sentries  — 
You  must  give  the  word  when  you  come  to  the  entries. 

They  dressed  themselves  in  the  riflemen's  clothes  ; 
They  had  pea-shooters  ;  they  had  arrows  and  bows, 
So  as  to  put  resistance  down  — 
Order  reigns  in  Lilliput-town  1 


LILLIPUT   LEVEE.  69 

They  made  tlic  baker  bake  liot  rolls  ; 
They  made  the  wharfinger  send  in  coals  ; 
They  made  the  butcher  kill  the  calf; 
They  cut  the  telegraph-wires  in  half ; 

They  went  to  the  chemist's,  and  with  their  feet 
They  kicked  the  physic  all  down  the  street ; 
They  went  to  the  school-room  and  tore  the  books  ; 
They  munched  the  pulls  at  the  pastry-cook's  ; 

They  sucked  the  jam  ;  they  lost  the  spoons  ; 
They  sent  up  several  fire-balloons  ; 
They  let  off  crackers  ;  they  burnt  a  guy ; 
They  piled  a  bonfire  ever  so  high  ; 

They  offered  a  prize  for  the  laziest  boy, 
And  one  for  the  most  magnificent  toy ; 
They  split  or  burnt  the  canes  off-hand  ; 
They  made  new  laws  in  Lilliput-land. 

"  Never  do  to-day  what  you  can 

Put  off  till  to-morrow,"  one  of  them  ranj 

"  Late  to  bed  and  late  to  rise," 

Was  another  law  which  they  did  devise. 

They  passed  a  law  to  have  always  plenty 
Of  beautiful  things  :  we  shall  mention  twenty  : 
A  magic  lantern  for  all  to  see, 
Rabbits  to  keep,  and  a  Cin-istmas-tree, 

A  boat,  a  house  that  went  on  wheels. 
An  organ  to  grind,  and  honey  at  meals. 
Drums  and  wheelbarrows,  Roman  candles, 
"Whips  with  whistles  let  into  the  handles, 

A  real  live  giant,  a  roc  to  fly, 

A  goat  to  tease,  a  copper  to  shy, 

A  garret  of  apples,  a  box  of  paints, 

A  saw  and  a  hammer,  and  no  complaints. 


70  youKG  folks'  headings. 

Nail  up  the  door,  slide  down  the  stairs, 
Saw  oir  the  legs  of  the  parlor  chairs  — 
Tliat  was  the  way  in  Lilliput-land, 
The  children  having  the  upper  hand. 

They  made  the  old  folks  come  to  school. 
All  in  pinafores  —  that  was  the  rule  — 
Saying,  Eener-deencr-diner-duss, 
Kattler-wheeler-whiler-wuss ; 

They  made  them  learn  all  sorts  of  things 
That  nobody  liked.     They  had  catechizings  ; 
They  kept  them  in  !  they  sent  them  down 
In  class,  in  school,  in  Lilliput-town. 

0,  but  they  gave  them  tit-for-tat ! 
Thick  bread  and  butter,  and  all  that ; 
Stick-jaw  pudding  that  tires  your  chin, 
With  the  marmalade  spread  ever  so  thin  I 

They  governed  the  clock  in  Lilliput-land  ; 
They  altered  the  hour  or  tlie  minute-hand  ; 
They  made  the  day  fast ;  they  made  the  day  slow  ; 
Just  as  they  wished  the  time  to  go  ; 

They  never  waited  for  king  or  for  cat ; 
They  never  wiped  their  shoes  on  the  mat ; 
Their  joy  was  great  ;  their  joy  was  greater  ; 
They  rode  in  the  baby's  perambulator  ! 

There  was  a  levee  in  Lilliput-town, 
At  Pinafore  Palace.      Smith  and  Brown, 
Jones  and  Robinson,  had  to  attend  — 
All  to  whom  they  cards  did  send. 

Every  one  rode  in  a  cab  to  the  door  ; 
Every  one  came  in  a  pinafore  ; 
Lady  and  gentleman,  rat-tat-tat. 
Loud  knock,  proud  knock,  opera-hat ! 


LILLIPUT   LEVEE.  71 

The  place  was  covered  with  silver  and  gold  ; 
The  place  was  full  as  it  ever  could  hold  ; 
The  ladies  kissed  her  Majesty's  hand  ; 
Such  was  the  custom  in  Lilliput-laud. 

His  Majesty  knighted  eight  or  ten, 
Perhaps  a  score,  of  the  gentlemen. 
Some  of  them  short,  and  some  of  them  tall  — 
Arise,  Sir  What's-a-uame  What  do-you-call ! 

Nuts  and  nutmeg  (that's  in  the  negus) ; 
The  bill  of  fare  would  perhaps  fatigue  us  ; 
Forty-five  fiddlers  to  play  the  fiddle  ; 
Right  foot,  left  foot,  down  the  middle. 

Conjuring  tricks  with  the  poker  and  tongs, 
Eiddlcs  and  forfeits,  singing  of  songs  ; 
One  fat  man,  too  fat  by  far, 
Tried,  "  Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star  1  " 

His  voice  was  gruff,  his  pinafore  tight ; 
His  wife  said,  "  Mind,  dear  ;  sing  it  right ;  " 
But  he  forgot,  aiid  said.  Fa-la-la  I 
The  queen  of  Lilliput's  own  papa  1 

She  frowned,  and  ordered  him  up  to  bed  ; 
He  said  he  was  sorry  ;  she  shook  her  head  ; 
His  clean  shirt-front  with  his  tears  was  stained  ; 
But  discipline  had  to  be  maintained. 

The  constitution  !     The  law  !     The  crown  1 
Order  reigns  in  Lilliput-town  ! 
The  queen  is  Jill,  and  the  king  is  John  ; 
I  trust  the  governmeut  will  get  on. 


72        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE   SOLDIER  BIRD. 


IN  the  spring  of  18G1,  Chief  Sky,  a  Chippewa  Indian, 
living  in  the  northern  wilds  of  Wisconsin,  found  an 
eagle's  nest.  To  make  sure  of  his  prize,  he  cut  the  tree 
down,  and  caught  the  eaglets  as  they  were  sliding  from 
the  nest  to  run  and  hide  in  the  grass.  One  died.  He 
carried  the  other  home,  and  built  a  nest  in  a  tree  close 
by  his  wigwam.  The  eaglet  was  as  large  as  a  hen, 
and  covered  with  soft  down.  The  red  children  were 
delighted  with  their  new  pet ;  and  as  soon  as  he  be- 
came acquainted,  he  would  sit  down  in  the  grass,  and 
see  them  play  with  the  dogs. 

But  Chief  Sky  was  poor,  and  he  was  obliged  to  sell 
the  noble  bird  to  a  white  man  for  a  bushel  of  corn. 
The  white  man  brought  him  to  Eau  Claire,  a  small 
village  where  the  enlisted  soldiers  were  busy  in  pre- 
paring to  go  to  the  war.  "  Here's  a  recruit,"  said  the 
man.  "  An  eagle  !  an  eagle  !  "  shouted  the  soldiers ; 
"  let  him  enlist !  "  and  sure  enough,  he  was  sworn  into 
the  service,  with  ribbons  around  his  neck — red,  white, 
and  blue. 

On  a  perch  surmounted  by  stars  and  stripes  the 
company  took  him  to  Madison,  the  capital  of  the  state. 
As  they  marched  into  Camp  Randall,  with  colors  fly- 
ing, drums  beating,  and  the  people  cheering,  the  eagle 
seized  the  flag  in  his  beak,  and  spread  his  wings,  his 
bright  eye  kindling  with  the  spirit  of  the  scene. 
Shouts  rent  the  air,  —  "The  Bird  of  Columbia!  the 
Eagle  of  Freedom  forever  ! " 

The  state  made  him  a  new  perch,  and  the  boys 
named  him  "  Old  Abe  ; "  and  the  Eighth  Wisconsin 


THE   SOLDIER   BIRD,  73 

Regiment  Avas  henceforth  called  "  The  Eagle  Regi- 
ment." On  the  march  he  was  carried  at  the  head 
of  the  company,  and  everywhere  was  greeted  with 
delight. 

At  St.  Louis  a  gentleman  offered  five  hundred  dol- 
lars for  him,  and  another  his  farm.  No,  no  ;  the  boys 
liad  no  notion  of  parting  with  their  bird.  He  Avas 
above  all  price,  —  an  emblem  of  battle  and  of  victory. 
Besides,  he  interested  their  minds,  and  made  them 
think  less  of  hardships  and  of  home. 

It  was  really  amusing  to  witness  the  strange  freaks 
and  droll  adventures  of  this  bird  during  his  three 
years'  service,  —  his  flights  in  the  air,  his  fights  with 
the  guinea-hens,  and  his  races  with  the  boys.  When 
the  regiment  was  in  summer  quarters  at  Clear  Creek, 
the  eagle  was  allowed  to  run  at  large,  and  every 
morning  went  to  the  river,  half  a  rhile  off,  where  he 
splashed  and  played  in  the  water  to  his  heart's 
content,  faithfully  returning  to  camp  when  he  was 
satisfied. 

Old  Abe's  favorite  place  of  resort  was  the  sutler's 
tent,  where  a  live  chicken  found  "  no  quarter  "  in  his 
presence.  But  rations  became  scarce,  and  for  two 
days  Abe  had  nothing  to  eat.  Hard-tack  he  objected 
to ;  fasting  was  disagreeable  ;  and  Thomas,  his  bearer, 
could  not  get  beyond  the  pickets  to  a  farm-yard.  At 
last,  pushing  his  way  to  the  colonel's  tent,  he  pleaded 
for  poor  Abe.  The  colonel  gave  him  a  pass,  and 
Thomas  procured  for  him  an  excellent  dinner. 

One  day  a  farmer  asked  Thomas  to  come  and  show 
the  eagle  to  his  children.  Satisfying  the  curiosity  of 
the  family,  Thomas  set  him  down  in  the  barn-yard. 
O,  what  a  screeching  and  scattering  among  the  fowls ! 


74  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

for  Abe  pounced  upon  one  and  gobbled  up  another,  to 
the  great  amazement  of  the  farmer,  who  declared  that 
such  wanton  behavior  was  not  in  the  bargain.  Abe, 
however,  thought  there  was  no  harm  in  "confiscating" 
in  time  of  war. 

Abe  was  in  twenty  battles,  besides  thirty  skirmishes. 
He  was  at  the  siege  of  Vicksburg,  the  storming  of 
Corinth,  and  marched  with  Sherman  in  his  grand 
campaign.  The  whiz  of  bullets  and  scream  of  shells 
were  his  delight.  As  the  battle  grew  hotter  and 
hotter,  he  would  flap  his  wings,  and  mingle  his  wildest 
notes  with  the  thundering  din  around  him. 

He  was,  very  fond  of  music,  especially  Yankee 
Doodle  and  John  Brown.  Upon  parade  he  always 
gave  heed  to  the  word,  "Attention!"  With  his  eye 
on  the  commander,  he  would  listen  and  obey  orders, 
noting  time  accurately.  After  parade  he  would  put 
off  his  soldierly  air,  flap  his  wings,  and  make  himself 
at  home. 

The  enemy  called  him  "  Yankee  Buzzard,"  "  Old 
Owl,"  and  other  hard  names  ;  but  his  eagle  nature 
was  quite  above  noticing  it.  One  general  gave 
orders  to  his  men  to  be  sure  and  capture  the  eagle 
of  the  Eighth  Wisconsin ;  saying  he  "  would  rather 
have  him  tlian  a  dozen  battle-flags."  But  for  all  that, 
he  scarcely  lost  a  feather,  —  only  one  from  his  right 
wing. 

At  last  the  war  was  over,  and  the  brave  Wisconsin 
Eighth,  with  their  live  eagle  and  torn  and  riddled 
flags,  were  welcomed  back  to  Madison.  They  went 
out  a  thousand  strong,  and  returned  a  little  band, 
scarred  and  toilworn,  having  fought  and  won. 

And  what  of  the  Soldier  Bird  ?     In  the  name  of  the 


BEAUTIFUL   GRANDMAMMA.  75 

gallant  veterans,  Captain  Wolf  presented  liim  to  the 
state.  Governor  Lewis  accepted  the  illustrious  gift, 
and  ample  quarters  are  provided  for  him  in  the 
beautiful  State-House  grounds,  where  may  he  long 
live  to  tell  us 

"What  heroes  from  the  woodland  sprang, 
Wlion,  through  the  fresh-awakened  land, 
The  thrilling  cry  of  Freedom  rang." 


BEAUTIFUL   GRANDMA^IMA. 

GRANDMAMMA  sits  in  her  quaint  arm-chair  ; 
Never  was  lady  more  sweet  and  fair ; 
Her  gray  locks  ripple  like  silver  shells, 
And  her  own  brow  its  story  tells 
Of  a  gentle  life  and  peaceful  even, 
A  trust  in  God  and  a  hope  in  heaven. 

Little  girl  Mary  sits  rocking  away 

In  her  own  low  seat,  like  some  winsome  fay  ; 

Two  doll  babies  her  kisses  share, 

And  another  one  lies  by  the  side  of  her  chair  ; 

May  is  fair  as  the  morning  dew, 

Cheeks  of  roses  and  ribbons  of  blue. 

"  Say,  grandmamma,"  says  the  pretty  elf, 

"  Tell  me  a  story  about  yourself : 

When  you  were  little,  what  did  you  play  ? 

Were  you  good  or  naughty,  the  whole  long  day  ? 

Was  it  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  ago  ? 

And  what  makes  your  soft  hair  as  white  as  snow  ? 

"  Did  you  have  a  mamma  to  hug  and  kiss  ? 
And  a  dolly  like  this,  and  this,  and  this  ? 


76  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Did  you  have  a  pussy  like  my  little  Kate  ? 
Did  you  go  to  bed  when  the  clock  struck  eight  ? 
Did  you  have  long  curls  and  beads  like  mine  ? 
And  a  new  silk  apron,  with  ribbons  fine  ?  " 

Grandmamma  smiled  at  the  little  maid, 
And,  laying  aside  her  knitting,  she  said, 
"  Go  to  my  desk,  and  a  red  box  you'll  see  ; 
Carefully  lift  it  and  bring  it  to  me." 
So  May  put  her  dollies  away,  and  ran, 
Saying,  "  I'll  be  careful  as  ever  I  can." 

Then  grandmamma  opened  the  box,  and  lo  I 
A  beautiful  child,  with  throat  like  snow, 
Lips  just  tinted  like  pink  shells  rare, 
Eyes  of  hazel,  and  golden  hair, 
Hand  all  dimpled,  and  teeth  like  pearls, 
Fairest  and  sweetest  of  little  girls. 

"  0,  who  is  it  ?  "  cried  winsome  May. 

"  How  I  wish  she  were  here  to-day  ! 

Wouldn't  I  love  her  like  everything  ; 

Say,  dear  grandmamma,  who  can  she  be  ?  " 

"  Darling,"  said  grandma,  "  that  child  was  me." 

May  looked  long  at  the  dimpled  grace. 

And  then  at  the  saint-like,  fair  old  face  ; 

"  llow  funny,"  she  cried,  with  a  smile  and  a  kiss, 

"  To  have  such  a  dear  little  grandma  as  this  ! 

Still,"  slie  added,  with  smiling  zest, 

"  1  think,  dear  grandma,  I  like  you  best." 

So  May  climbed  on  the  silken  knee. 

And  grandmamma  told  her  hist(jry  ; 

What  plays  she  played,  what  toys  she  had. 

How  at  times  she  was  naughty,  or  good,  or  sad. 

"But  the  best  thing  you  did,"  said  May,  "don't  you  see? 

Was  to  grow  a  beautiful  grandma  for  me." 

atandard  of  the  Crou. 


THE   BOYS.  77 


THE  BOYS. 

"  'T^IIE  boys  are  coming  home  to-morrow  :  " 

i     This  our  rural  liostess  said, 
Whilst  Lou  and  I  shot  flitting  glances, 
Full  of  vague  unspoken  dread. 

Had  we  hither  come  for  quiet, 

Hither  lied  the  city's  noise, 
But  to  change  it  for  the  tumult 

Of  those  horrid  country  boys  ; 

Waking  one  with  wild  hallooing 

Early  every  summer  day, 
Shooting  robins,  teasing  kittens. 

Frightening  wrens  away ; 

Tumbling  over  trailing  flounces. 
Tumbling  volumes  gold  and  blue  ; 

Clamoring  for  sugared  dainties, 

Tracking  earth  the  passage  through  ? 

These,  and  other  kindred  trials. 

Fancied  we  with  woful  sigh  ; 
"  Those  boys,  those  horrid  boys,  to-morrow  !  " 

Sadly  whispered  Lou  and  1. 

I  wrote  those  lines  one  happy  summer  ; 

To-day  I  smile  to  read  them  o'er. 
Remembering  how  full  of  terror 

We  watched  all  day  the  opening  door. 

They  came,  the  boys,  six  feet  in  stature. 

Graceful,  easy,  polished  men  ; 
I  vowed  to  Lou,  behind  my  knitting, 

To  trust  no  mother's  word  again. 


78  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

For  boyhood  is  a  thing  immortal 
To  every  mother's  heart  and  eye, 

And  sons  are  bo3^s  to  her  forever, 
Change  as  they  may  to  you  or  I. 

To  her  no  line  comes  sharply  marking 
Wliither  or  when  their  chiklhood  went, 

Nor  when  the  eye-glance  upward  turning, 
Levelled  at  last  their  downward  bent ! 

Now,  by  the  window  still  and  sunny, 
Warmed  by  the  rich  October  glow. 

The  dear  old  lady  waits  and  watches, 
Just  as  she  waited  years  ago. 

For  Lou  and  I  are  now  her  daughters  ; 

We  married  those  two  country  boys, 
In  spite  of  all  our  sad  forebodings 

About  their  awkward  ways  and  noise. 

Lou  springs  up  to  meet  a  footfall ; 

I  litst  no  more  for  coming  feet ; 
Mother  and  I  are  waiting  longer 

For  steps  on  Beulah's  golden  street. 

But  when  she  blesses  Lou's  beloved, 
And  seals  it  with  a  tender  kiss, 

I  know  that  loving  thoughts  go  upward  — 
Words  to  another  world  than  this. 

Always  she  speaks  in  gentle  fashion 
About  "  my  boys,"  —  she  always  will, 

Though  one  is  gray,  and  one  has  vanished 
Beyond  the  touch  of  time  or  ill. 


POLITICS.  79 


POLITICS. 

BILL  MORE  and  I,  in  days  gone  by, 
Were  friends  the  long  year  through, 
Save  when,  above  the  melting  snow, 
Wild  March  his  trumpet  blew. 

Outspoken  foes,  we  then  arose  ; 

Each  chose  a  different  way  ; 
For  March,  to  our  New  Hampshire  hills, 

Brings  back  town-meeting  day. 

Its  gingerbread  and  oranges, 

Alike  on  Bill  and  me. 
That  day  bestowed,  but  only  one 

Could  shai-e  its  victory. 

For  what  was  victory  ?     AVe  had 

Opposing  views  of  that, 
For  Billy  was  an  old  line  Whig, 

And  I  a  Democrat. 

The  tide  of  politics  ran  high 

Among  the  village  boj^s, 
And  those  were  truest  patriots 

AVho  made  the  greatest  noise. 

And  who  could  higher  toss  his  cap. 

Or  louder  shout  than  I  ? 
Till  all  tlu^  mountain  echoes  learnt 

My  party  battle-cry  ! 

One  time,  —  it  was  election  morn,  — 
Beside  the  town-house  door. 

Among  a  troo])  of  clieering  boys, 
I  came  on  Billy  More. 


80  YOUNG  folks'  readings, 

"  Cheer  on  !  "  I  called  ;   "  I  would  not  give. 

For  your  hurrahs,  a  fig  ; 
But  say,  wliut  do  the  Whigs  believe  ? 

Speak,  Billy  !  you're  a  Whig." 

And  Bill  said,  "  I  don't  know  nor  care  ; 

You  needji't  ask  nie  that ; 
You'd  better  tell  me,  if  you  can, 

Why  you're  a  Democrat." 

And  I  commenced,  in  bold  disdain,  — 

"  What?  tell  you,  if  I  can  ? 
I  ?     Why,  my  father  's  candidate 

For  second  selectman. 

"And  he  knows  —  I  know — he  knows — he- 

I  think  — I  feel  — I  — I  — 
I  —  I  —  I  am  a  Democrat,  — 

And  thal^s  the  reason  why." 

"Ila!  ha!"  the  mocking  shout  that  rose, — 

I  seem  to  hear  it  now, 
And  feel  the  hot  tumultuous  blood 

That  crimsoned  cheek  and  brow  ! 

I  might  have  spared  my  blushes  then, 

I  should  have  kept  my  shame 
For  men,  grown  men,  who  fight  to-day 

For  just  a  party  name  ! 

This  side  or  that,  they  cast  their  votes. 
And  pledge  their  faitli,  and  why  ? 

Go  ask,  and  you  will  find  them  wise 
As  Billy  More  and  1 1 

Hakion  Douglass. 


LITTLE   BENNY.  81 


LITTLE  BENNY. 

I  HAD  told  him  Christmas  morning, 
As  he  sat  upon  my  knee, 
Uolding-  fast  his  little  stockings, 
Stull'ed  as  full  as  lull  could  be. 
And  attentive  listening-  to  me, 

With  a  fiicc  demure  and  mild, 
That  old  Santa  Claus,  who  lillcd  them. 
Did  not  love  a  naughty  child. 

"  But  we'll  be  good  —  won't  we,  moder  ?  " 

And  from  ofi"  my  lap  he  slid. 
Digging  deep  among  the  goodies 

In  the  crimson  stockings  hid  ; 
While  I  turned  me  to  my  table. 

Where  a  tempting-  goblet  stood. 
Brimming  high  with  dainty  custard, 

Sent  me  by  a  neighbor  good. 

But  the  kitten,  there  before  nic, 

With  his  white  paw,  nothing  loath. 
Sat,  by  way  of  entertainment, 

Slapping  off  the  shining  froth ; 
And,  in  not  the  gentlest  humor 

At  the  loss  of  such  a  treat, 
I  confess  I  rather  rudely 

Thrust  him  out  into  the  street. 

Then  how  Benny's  blue  eyes  kindled  1 

Gathering  up  the  precious  store 
He  had  busily  been  pouring 

In  his  tiny  pinafore. 
With  a  generous  look  that  shamed  me. 

Sprang  he  from  the  carpet  bright, 
Showing  by  his  mien  indignant, 

All  a  baby's  sense  of  right. 
6 


82  YOUNO  folks'  readings. 

"  Come  back,  Harney,"  called  he  loudly, 

As  he  licld  his  apron  white, 
"  You  shall  liave  my  candy  wabbit !  " 

But  the  door  was  fastened  tight ; 
So  he  stood,  abashed  and  silent. 

In  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
With  defeated  look  alternate 

Bent  on  me  and  on  the  door. 

Then  as  by  some  sudden  impulse 

Quickly  ran  he  to  the  fire. 
And  while  eagerly  his  bright  eyes 

"Watched  the  flames  go  liigher  and  higher, 
In  a  brave,  clear  key,  he  shouted, 

Like  some  lordly  little  elf, 
"  Santa  Kaus,  come  down  de  chimney, 

Make  my  moder  'have  herself ! " 

"  I  will  be  a  good  girl,  Benny," 

Said  I,  feeling  the  reproof; 
And  straightway  recalled  poor  Ilarney, 

Mewing  on  the  gallery  roof. 
Soon  the  anger  was  forgotten, 

Laughter  chased  away  the  frown. 
And  they  gambolled  'neath  the  live-oaks 

Till  the  dusky  night  came  down. 

In  mj'  dim,  fire-lighted  chamber, 

Ilarney  purred  beneath  my  chair. 
And  my  play-worn  boy  beside  me. 

Knelt  to  say  his  evening  prayer  : 
*'  God  besH  fader,  God  bess  moder, 

God  bess  sister  "  —  then  a  pause. 
And  the  sweet  young  lips  devoutly 

Murmured,  "  God  bess  Santa  Kaus." 

lie  is  sleeping  :  brown  and  silken 
Lie  the  lashes,  long  and  meek, 


THE   ETERNAL   BURDEN.  83 

Like  caressing-,  clinging  shadows 

On  liis  plump  and  peachy  cheek  ; 
And  I  bend  above  him  weeping 

Thankful  tears.  0  Undefiled  ! 
For  a  woman's  crown  of  glory, 

For  the  blessing  of  a  child. 


THE   ETERNAL   BURDEN. 

A  PRINCE  in  the  East  had  taken  a  widow's  field 
away  from  her,  though  she  would  not  sell  it  to 
him.  The  widow  went  to  a  wise  judge,  and  com- 
plained of  her  misfortune.  The  judge  arose,  took  a 
sack,  and  laid  it  on  his  mule. 

So  he  came  to  the  prince,  who  was  just  then  in  his 
garden  adjoining  the  widow's  field.  The  judge  asked 
permission  of  the  prince  to  fill  the  sack  with  earth 
from  the  poor  woman's  field,  as  a  keepsake  for  her. 
The  prince  granted  it,  and  said,  — 

"  Why  has  the  woman  been  so  foolish  as  not  to  sell 
me  the  field  ?     Now  she  is  punished  for  her  folly." 

When  the  judge  had  filled  the  sack,  he  asked  the 
prince  to  help  him  lift  it  upon  the  mule's  back.  The 
prince  tried  it,  but  said  at  once,  — 

"  The  sack  is  too  heavy  for  me." 

Then  said  the  judge,  with  great  earnestness,  — 

"  If  this  sack  full  of  earth  is  so  heavy  even  now,  how 
heavily  will  the  whole  field  weigh  upon  you  through- 
out eternity  ?  " 

This  thought  made  the  prince  afraid,  and  he  gave 
the  widow  back  her  field. 


84  YOUNG  FOLKS'  READINGS. 


LETTING   THE   OLD    CAT   DIE. 

NOT  long-  ago  I  -waiulered  near 
A  playground  in  the  wood, 
And  tlicre  lieard  words  from  a  youngster's  lips 
That  I've  never  quite  understood. 

"  Now  let  the  old  cat  die,"  he  laughed  ; 

1  saw  him  give  a  push. 
Then  gayly  scamper  away,  as  he  espied 

A  face  peep  over  the  bush. 

But  what  he  pushed,  or  where  he  went, 

I  could  not  well  make  out. 
On  account  of  the  thicket  of  bending  boughs 

That  bordered  the  place  about. 

"  The  little  villain  has  stoned  a  cat. 

Or  hung  it  upon  a  limb. 
And  left  it  to  die  all  alone, ^'  I  said, 

"  But  I'll  play  the  mischief  with  him." 

I  forced  my  way  through  tlic  boughs 

The  poor  old  cat  to  seek. 
And  what  did  I  find  but  a  swinging  child 

With  her  bright  liuir  brushing  her  cheek. 

Ilcr  bright  hair  floated  to  and  fro, 

llcr  little  red  dress  flashed  by  ; 
But  the  loveliest  thing  of  all,  I  thought. 

Was  the  gleam  of  her  laughing  eye. 

Swinging  and  swinging  back  and  forth, 

With  the  rose-light  in  her  face. 
She  Bcemod  like  a  bird  and  flower  in  one, 

And  the  forest  her  native  place. 


THE  WIVES   OF   BRIXHAM.  85 

"  Steady  !  I'll  send  you  up,  my  child  ;  " 

But  she  stopped  me  with  a  cry  : 
"  Go  'way  !  f^o  'way  !  don't  touch  me,  please  ; 

I'm  letting  the  old  cat  die." 

"  You're  letting  him  die  !  "  I  cried,  ag'hast ; 

"  Why,  whore's  the  cat,  my  dear  't  " 
And  lo  !  the  laugh  that  filled  the  wood 

Was  a  thing  lor  the  birds  to  hear. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know,"  said  the  little  maid, 

Tiie  sparkling,  beautilul  elf, 
"  Tiiat  we  call  letting  the  old  cat  die 

When  the  swing  stops  all  itself?  " 

Then  swinging  and  swinging,  and  looking  back, 

With  the  mei-riest  look  in  her  oyQ, 
She  bade  me  good  by,  and  I  left  her  alone 

Letting  the  old  cat  die. 


THE   WIVES   OF   BRIXHAM. 

'V^OU  see  the  gentle  water, 
\     How  silently  it  floats  ; 
How  cautiously,  how  steadily. 

It  moves  tlu;  sleepy  boats  ; 
And  all  the  little  loops  of  pearl 

It  strews  along  the  sand. 
Steal  out  as  leisurely  as  leaves    • 

When  summer  is  at  hand. 

But  you  know  it  can  be  angry. 
And  thunder  from  its  rest, 

When  the  stormy  taunts  of  winter 
Are  flying  at  its  breast  ; 


86  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  if  you  like  to  listen, 

And  draw  your  chairs  around, 

I'll  tell  you  what  it  did  one  night 
When  3'ou  were  sleeping  sound. 

The  merry  boats  of  Brixhara 

Go  out  to  search  the  seas  ; 
A  stanch  and  sturdy  fleet  are  they, 

That  like  a  swinging  breeze  ; 
And  before  the  woods  of  Devon, 

And  the  silver  cliil's  of  Wales, 
You  may  see,  when  summer  evenings  fall, 

The  light  upon  their  sails. 

But  when  the  year  grows  darker. 

And  gray  winds  hunt  the  foam. 
They  go  back  to  Little  Erixham, 

And  ply  their  toil  at  home. 
And  thus  it  chanced  one  winter's  night, 

When  a  storm  began  to  roar, 
That  all  the  men  were  out  at  sea, 

And  all  the  wives  on  shore. 

Then  as  the  wind  grew  fiercer. 

The  women's  cheeks  grew  white,  — 
It  was  fiercer  in  tlie  twilight. 

And  fiercest  in  the  night. 
The  strong  clouds  set  themselves  like  ice 

Without  a  star  to  melt. 
The  blackness  of  the  darkness 

Was  darkness  to  be  felt. 

The  storm,  like  an  assassin. 

Went  on  its  wicked  way. 
And  struck  a  hundred  boats  adrift. 

To  reel  about  the  bay. 
They  meet,  they  crash!  —  God  keep  the  men  I 

God  give  a  moment's  light ! 


THE  WIVES   OF  BRIXIIAM.  87 

There  is  nothing'  but  tlie  tumult, 

And  the  tempest,  and  the  night.  * 

The  men  on  shore  were  anxious,  — 

They  dreaded  what  they  knew  ; 
What  do  you  think  the  women  did  ? 

Love  taught  them  what  to  do  ! 
Outspoke  a  wife  :   "  We've  beds  at  home, 

We'll  burn  them  for  a  light,  — 
Give  us  the  men  and  the  bare  ground  ! 

Wc  want  no  more  to-night." 

They  took  the  grandame's  blanket, 

Who  shivered  and  bade  them  go  ; 
They  took  the  baby's  pillow. 

Who  could  not  say  them  no  ; 
And  they  heaped  a  great  fire  on  the  pier, 

And  knew  not  all  the  while 
If  they  were  heaping-  a  bonfire, 

Or  only  a  funeral  pile. 

And,  fed  with  precious  food,  the  flame 

Shone  bravely  on  the  black. 
Till  a  cry  rang  through  the  people, 

"  A  boat  is  coming  back  !  " 
Staggering  dimly  through  the  fog, 

Come  shapes  of  fear  and  doubt ; 
But  when  the  first  prow  strikes  the  pier, 

Cannot  you  hear  them  shout  ? 

Then  all  along  the  breadth  of  flame 

Dark  figures  shrieked  and  ran. 
With,  "  Child,  here  comes  your  father  1 " 

Or,  "  Wife,  is  this  your  man  ?  " 
And  faint  feet  touch  the  welcome  stone, 

And  wait  a  little  while  ; 
And  kisses  drop  from  frozen  lips, 

Too  tired  to  speak  or  smile. 


88  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

So,  one  by  one,  they  strug-gled  in, 

All  that  the  sea  would  spare  ; 
Wo  Avill  not  reckon  through  our  tean 

The  names  that  were  not  there  ; 
But  some  went  home  without  a  bed. 

When  all  the  tale  was  told, 
AVIio  were  too  cold  with  sorrow 

To  know  the  night  was  cold. 

And  this  is  what  the  men  must  do 

Who  work  in  wind  and  foam  ; 
And  this  is  what  the  women  bear 

Who  watch  lor  them  at  home. 
So  when  you  see  a  Brixham  boat 

Go  out  to  face  the  gales. 
Think  of  the  love  that  travels 

Like  light  upon  her  sails. 


CHRISTOPHER   COLUMBUS. 

THE    MAN    WHO    DISCOVERED    AMERICA    TWO    POINTS    OFF 

THE    PORT   BOW. 

ONE  day,  in  his  garden,  he  observed  an  apple  falling 
from  its  tree,  whereupon  a  conviction  flashed  sud- 
denly through  his  mind  that  the  earth  was  round. 

By  breaking  the  shell  of  an  egg,  and  making  it  stand 
on  end  at  the  dinner-table,  he  demonstrated  that  he 
could  sail  due  west,  and  in  course  of  time  arrive  at 
another  hemisphere. 

He  started  a  line  of  emigrant  packets  from  Palos, 
Spain,  and  landed  at  Philadelphia,  where  he  walked 
up  Market  Street  with  a  loaf  of  bread  under  each  arm. 
The  simple-hearted  natives  took  Lim  out  to  see  their 
new  park. 


CHRISTOPHER   COLUMBUS.  89 

On  his  second  voyage,  Columbus  was  barbarously 
murdered  at  the  Sandwich  Islands,  or,  rather,  would 
have  been  but  for  the  intervention  of  Pocahontas, 
a  lovely  maiden,  romantically  fond  of  distressed 
travellers. 

After  this  little  incident  he  went  west,  where  his 
intrepidity  and  masterly  financial  talent  displayed 
itself  in  the  success  with  which  he  acquired  laud  and 
tobacco  without  paying  for  them. 

As  the  savages  had  no  railroad  of  which  they  could 
make  him  president,  they  ostracized  him  —  sent  him 
to  the  Island  of  St.  Helena. 

But  the  spirit  of  discovery  refused  to  be  quenched ; 
and  the  next  year  we  find  him  landing  at  Plymouth 
Rock  in  a  blinding  snow-storm.  It  was  here  that  he 
shot  an  apple  from  his  son's  head. 

To  this  universal  genius  are  we  indebted  also  for 
the  exploration  of  the  sources  of  the  Nile,  and  for  an 
unintelligible,  but  correspondingly  valuable,  scientific 
report  of  a  visit  to  the  valley  of  the  Yellowstone. 

He  took  no  side  in  our  late  unhappy  war  ;  but  dur- 
ing the  Revolution,  he  penetrated  with  a  handful  of 
the  Garde  Mobile  into  the  mountain  fastnesses  of 
Minnesota,  where  he  won  that  splendid  series  of  vic- 
tories, which,  beginning  with  Guilford  Court  House, 
terminated  in  the  glorious  storming  of  Chapultepec. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  rewarded  him  with  chains. 
Genoa,  his  native  city,  gave  him  a  statue,  and  Boston 
has  named  in  his  honor  one  of  her  proudest  avenues. 

One  day  he  rushed  from  the  bath,  exclaiming, 
"  Eureka ! "  and  the  presumption  is,  that  he  was 
right. 


90        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE  PUZZLED   CENSUS-TAKER. 

"  f^OT  any  boys  ?  "  the  marshal  said 
vT    To  a  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 

And  the  lady  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "  Nine/"  * 

"  Got  any  girls  ?  "  the  marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 

And  again  tlie  lady  shook  her  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "Nine!" 

"  Bnt  some  are  dead  ?  "  the  marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 

And  again  the  lady  shook  her  head. 
And  civilly  answered,  "Nine!" 

"  Husband,  of  course  ?  ''  the  marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 

And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head, 
And  civilly  answered,  "Nine!" 

"The  d — 1  you  have  !  "  the  marshal  said 
To  the  lady  from  over  the  Rhine  ; 

And  again  she  shook  her  flaxen  head. 
And  civilly  answered,  "Nine!" 

"  Now  what  do  you  mean  by  shaking  your  head, 
And  always  answering  '  Nine?'  " 

"  Lh  Icann  nicJU  Enf/lich!"  civilly  said 
The  lady  from  over  tlie  Rhine. 

John  G.  Saxe. 

*  Nein,  pronounced  Nine,  is  the  Gorman  for  "  No ! " 


LINGERING    LATIMER.  91 


TRUTH. 

BE  true,  be  true  !  whate'cr  bosido, 
Of  wit  or  wealth,  or  rank  be  tliiuc, 
Unless  with  simple  truth  allied, 

The  gold  that  glitters  in  thy  mine 
Is  only  dross,  the  brass  of  pride. 
Or  vainer  tinsel,  made  to  shine. 

Be  true,  be  true  !  to  nerve  your  arm 

For  any  good  ye  wish  to  do  ; 
To  save  yourselves  from  sin  and  harm, 

And  win  all  honors  old  and  new  ; 
To  work  on  hearts  as  with  a  charm,  — 

The  maxim  is,  Be  true,  be  true  ! 

Be  true,  be  true  !  that  easy  prize 

So  lovable  to  human  view, 
So  laudable  beyond  the  skies, 

Alas  !  is  reached  by  very  few  — 
The  simple  ones,  though  more  than  wise,  — 

Whose  motto  is,  Be  true,  be  true  I 

M.  r.  Tltpkb. 


LINGERING  LATIMER. 

LINGERING  LATIMER  lived  up  a  tree, 
Just  like  a  sloth  ! 
Slackest  and  slowest  of  slow  boys  was  he. 
Lazy  and  loth  ! 

He  kept  a  pet  tortoise,  and  that  had  the  gout, 

A  very  poor  goer  ; 
And  Lingering  Latimer,  when  they  went  out 

For  a  walk,  was  the  slower  ! 


92  YOUNG  folks'  headings. 

There  was  nothing  about  him  would  run — not  his  nose, 

We  are  told  1 
But  the  secret  of  that  was  (it's  under  the  rose), 

lie  could  not  catch  —  cold  I 

In  his  prospects  we  cannot  but  own  there  is  hope 

Of  a  sort : 
He  may  live  by  performing'  upon  the  slack  rope, 

And  can  never  run  —  short  1 


ODE   TO   SPRING. 

WRITTEN   IN    A   LAWYER'S    OFFICE. 

WHEREAS,  on  sundry  boughs  and  sprays. 
Now  divers  birds  are  heard  to  sing. 
And  sundry  flowers  their  heads  upraise,  — 
Hail  to  the  coming  on  of  Spriug  I 

The  birds  aforesaid,  happy  pairs  ! 

Love  midst  the  aforesaid  boughs  enshrines, 
In  household  nests,  themselves,  their  heirs. 

Administrators,  and  assigns. 

The  songs  of  the  said  birds  arouse 
The  memory  of  our  youthful  hours. 

As  young  and  green  as  the  said  boughs. 
As  fresh  and  fair  as  the  said  flowers. 

0,  busiest  term  of  Cupid's  court ! 

When  tender  plaintifTs  actions  bring  ; 
Season  of  frolic  and  of  sport. 

Hail,  as  aforesaid,  coming  Spring  1 


ROBERT   OF   LI^X'OLN.  93 


ROBERT   OF   LINCOLN. 

MERRILY  swinging-  on  brier  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincohi  is  telling  his  name  — 

"  Bob-o-liiik,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  spink. 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours. 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers  : 
Chee,  chee,  chee," 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  dressed. 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding  coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders  and  white  his  crest, 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note  — 

"  Bob-o-link,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  spink. 
Look  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine. 
Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife. 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  grass  while  her  husband  sings  — 
"  Bob-o-link,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  sjjink. 
Brood,  kind  creature,  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers  while  I  am  hei'c. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she. 

One  weak  chirp  her  only  note  ; 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he. 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat  — 

"Bob-o-link,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  spink. 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man  ; 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 


94  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay, 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight  1 
There,  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Kobert  is  singing  with  all  his  might  — 

"  Bob-o-liuk,  bob-o-liiik,  spink,  spank,  spink, 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out. 
Keeping  house  while  I  frolic  about. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 

Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food  ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 

Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood  — 

"  Bob-o-link,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Ilard  for  a  gay  young  fellow  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work,  and  silent  with  care  ; 
Off  is  liis  holiday  garment  laid. 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air  — 

"  Bob-o-link,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nobody  knows  but  my  mate  and  I 
Where  our  nest  and  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Summer  wanes  ;  the  children  are  grown  ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows  ; 
Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  humdrum  crone  ; 
Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes  — 

"  Bob-o-link,  bob-o-link,  spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again  : 
Chee,  chee,  chee."  bbyant. 


AT   SEA.  95 


AT  SEA. 

THE  night  is  made  for  cooling  shade, 
For  silence,  and  for  sleep  ; 
And  when  1  was  a  child,  I  laid 
My  hands  upon  my  breast,  and  prayed, 

And  sank  to  slumbers  deep. 
Childlike  as  then,  1  lie  to-night, 
And  watch  my  lonely  cabin  light. 

Each  movement  of  the  swaying  lamp 

Shows  how  the  vessel  reels  ; 
As  o'er  her  deck  the  billows  tramp, 
And  all  her  timbers  strain  and  cramp 

With  every  shock  she  feels. 
It  starts  and  shudders,  while  it  burns, 
And  in  its  hinged  socket  turns. 

Now  swinging  slow,  and  slanting  low. 

It  almost  level  lies  ; 
And  yet  I  know,  while  to  and  fro 
I  watch  the  seeming  pendule  go 

With  restless  fall  and  rise, 
The  steady  shaft  is  still  upright, 
Poising  its  little  globe  of  light. 


0,  hand  of  God  !     0,  lamp  of  peace  1 

0,*promise  of  my  soul  !  — 
Though  weak,  and  tossed,  and  ill  at  ease, 
Amid  the  roar  of  smiting  seas. 

The  ship's  convulsive  roll, 
I  own,  with  love  and  tender  awe, 
Yon  perfect  type  of  faith  and  law  ! 


96  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

A  heavenly  trust  my  spirit  calms, 

My  soul  is  filled  with  lig-ht : 
The  ocean  sing-s  his  solemn  psalms, 
The  wild  winds  chant  :  1  cross  my  palms, 

Happy  as  if,  to-night, 
Under  the  cottage-roof,  again  " 

I  heard  the  soothing  summer-rain. 

J.  T.  Trowbkidge. 


THE   SHADOW   ON   THE   BLIND. 

MR.  FERDINAND  PLUM  was  a  grocer  by  trade  ; 
By  attention  and  tact  he  a  fortune  had  made  ; 
No  tattler,  nor  maker  of  mischief,  was  he. 
But  as  honesta  man  as  you'd  e'er  wish  to  see. 
Of  a  chapel,  close  by,  he  was  deacon,  they  say, 
And  his  minister  lived  just  over  the  way. 

Mr.  Plum  was  retiring  to  rest  one  night, 
Uc  had  just  undressed  and  put  out  the  light, 

And  pulled  back  the  blind 

As  he  peeped  from  behind 
('Tis  a  custom  with  many  to  do  so  you'll  find), 

When,  glancing  his  eye, 

lie  happened  to  spy 
On  the  blinds  on  the  opposite  side  —  0,  fie  I 
Two  shadows  ;  each  movement  of  course  he  could  see, 
And  tlio  people  were  quarrelling  evidently. 
"  Well,  I  never  !  "  said  Plum,  as  he  witnessed  the  strife, 
"  1  declare,  'tis  the  minister  beating  his  wife  ! " 
The  minister  held  a  thick  stick  in  his  hand, 
And  liis  wife  ran  away  as  he  shook  the  brand, 
While  her  shrieks  and  cries  were  quite  shocking  to  hear. 
And  the  sounds  came  across  most  remarkably  clear. 


THE   SHADOW   ON   THE   BLIND.  97 

"  Well,  tilings  arc  deceiving, 

But  —  '  seeing's  believing,'  " 
Said  Plum  to  himself,  as  he  turned  into  bed  ; 

"  Now,  who  would  have  thought 

That  man  would  have  fought 
And  beaten  his  wife  on  her  shoulders  and  head 

With  a  great  big  stick, 

At  least  three  inches  tliick  ? 
I  am  sure  her  shrieks  quite  filled  me  with  dread. 

I've  a  great  mind  to  bring 

The  whole  of  the  thing 
Before  tlie  church  members  ;  but,  no,  I  have  read 
A  proverb,  which  says,  'Least  said  soonest  mended.'  " 
And  thus  Mr.  Plum's  mild  soliloquy  ended. 

But,  alas  !  Mr.  Plum's  eldest  daughter.  Miss  Jane, 
Saw  the  whole  of  the  scene,  and  could  not  refrain 
From  telling  Miss  Spot,  and  Miss  Spot  told  again 
(Thougli  of  course  in  strict  confidence)  ecer?/  one 
Whom  she  happened  to  know,  what  the  parson  had  done. 
So  the  news  spread  abroad,  and  soon  reached  the  ear 
Of  the  parson  liimsclf.  and  he  traced  it,  1  hear, 
To  the  author,  Miss  Jane.      Jane  could  not  deny. 
But  at  the  same  time  she  begged  leave  to  defy 
The  parson  to  prove  she  had  uttered  a  lie. 

A  church  meeting  was  called  :  Mr.  Plum  made  a  speech. 

lie  said,  "  Friends,  pray  listen  a  Avhilc,  I  beseech. 

Wiiat  my  daughter  has  said  is  most  certainly  true. 

For  1  saw  the  whole  scene  on  the  same  evening,  too  : 

But,  not  wishing  to  make  an  unpleasantness  rife, 

I  did  not  tell  either  my  daughter  or  wife. 

But,  of  course,  as  Miss  Jane  saw  the  whole  of  the  act, 

I  think  it  but,  right  to  attest  to  the  I'act." 

"  'Tis  remarkably  strange  !  "  the  parson  replied  : 

"  It  is  plain  Mr.  Plum  must  somelhiiuj  have  spied  ; 

7 


98  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Thdugli  tho  wife-boating  story,  of  course,  is  denied  : 

And  in  ihat  1  can  say  I  am  grossly  belied." 

AVliilo  he  ransacks  his  brain,  and  ponders,  and  tries 

To  recall  any  scene  that  could  ever  give  rise 

To  so  monstrous  a  charge,  just  then  his  wife  cries, 

"  I  have  it,  my  love  ;  you  remember  that  night 

When  1  had  such  a  horrible,  terrible  fright. 

We  both  were  retiring  that  evening  to  rest  — 

I  was  seated,  my  dear,  and  but  partly  undressed  — 

When  a  horrid  old  rat  jumped  close  to  my  feet ; 

^\y  shrieking  was  heard,  1  suppose,  in  the  street ; 

You  caught  up  the  poker,  and  ran  round  the  room, 

And  at  last  knocked  the  rat,  and  so  sealed  its  doom. 

Our  shadows,  my  love,  must  have  played  on  the  blind  ; 

And  this  is  the  mystery  solved  you  will  find." 

Moral. 

Don't  believe  every  tale  that  is  handed  about ; 

We  have  all  enough  faults  and  real  failings,  Avithout 

Being  burdened  with  those  of  which  there's  a  doubt. 


THE   PORTRAITS. 

A  PAINTER,  who  wanted  a  picture  of  Innocence, 
drew  the  likeness  of  a  child  at  prayer.  The 
little  suppliant  was  kneeling  by  the  side  of  his  mother, 
who  regarded  him  with  tenderness.  The  palms  of  his 
lifted  hands  were  reverently  pressed  together ;  his 
rosy  cheeks  spoke  of  health,  and  his  mild,  blue  eye 
was  upturned  with  an  expression  of  devotion  and 
peace. 

Thi.s  portrait  of  young  Rupert  was  highly  prized  by 
the  painter;  for  he  had  bestowed  on  it  great  pains:  he 
hung  it  up  in  liis  study,  and  called  it  Innocence. 


THE   PORTRAITS.  99 

Years  rolled  along,  and  the  painter  became  an  aged 
man  ;  but  tlic  picture  of  Innocence  still  adorned  his 
study  walls.  Olten  had  he  thought  of  painting  a  con- 
trast to  his  favorite  i)ortrait ;  but  opportunity  had  not 
served.  lie  had  sought  for  a  striking  model  of  guilt ; 
but  had  failed  to  find  one.  At  last  he  eiTected  his  pur- 
pose by  paying  a  visit  to  a  neighboring  jail. 

On  the  damp  floor  of  his  dungeon  lay  a  wretched 
culprit,  named  Randal,  heavily  ironed.  Wasted  was 
liis  body,  worn  was  his  cheek,  and  anguish  unutterable 
was  seen  in  his  hollow  eye ;  but  this  was  not  all.  Vice 
was  visible  in  his  face,  guilt  was  branded,  as  with  a 
hot  iron,  and  horrid  imprecations  burst  from  his  blas- 
pheming tongue. 

The  painter  executed  the  task  to  the  life,  and  bore 
away  the  successful  effort  of  his  pencil.  The  portraits 
of  young  Rupert  and  old  Randal  were  hung,  side  by 
side,  in  his  study  ;  the  one  representing  Innocence  and 
the  other  Guilt. 

But  who  was  young  Rupert,  who  kneeled  in  pl-ayer 
by  the  side  of  his  motlier  in  meek  devotion  ?  And 
who  was  old  Randal,  who  lay  manacled  on  the  dun- 
geon floor,  cursing  and  blaspheming  ?  Alas,  the  two 
were  one  !  Young  Rupert  and  old  Randal  were  the 
same.  Led  by  bad  companions  into  tlie  paths  of  sin, 
no  wonder  that  young  Rupert  found  bitterness  and 
sorrow. 

Well  may  youth  and  age  walk  humbly  before  God, 
putting  up  the  prayer,  "  Keep  me  as  the  apple  of  the 
eye,  hide  me  under  the  shadow  of  thy  wings." 


100  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE   THREE   WARNINGS. 

THE  tree  of  deepest  root  is  found 
Least  willing  still  to  quit  the  ground  ; 
'Twas  therefore  said  by  ancient  sages 

That  love  of  life  increased  with  years, 
So  much,  that  in  our  latter  stages, 
AVhen  pains  grow  sharp,  and  sickness  rages, 

The  greatest  love  of  life  appears. 
Tliis  great  aflection  to  believe, 
AVhich  all  confess,  but  few  perceive, 
If  old  assertions  can't  prevail, 
Be  pleased  to  hear  a  modern  tale, 

"When  sports  went  round,  and  all  were  gay. 
On  neighbor  Dobson's  wedding  day, 
Death  called  aside  the  jocund  groom 
With  him  into  another  room, 
And  looking  grave,  "  You  must,"  says  he, 
"  Quit  your  sweet  bride,  and  come  with  me." 
"  With  you  !  and  quit  my  Susan's  side  ? 
With  you  ?  "  the  hapless  husband  cried  ; 
"  Young  as  I  am,  'tis  monstrous  hard  ! 
Besides,  in  truth,  I'm  not  prepared  ; 
]\Iy  thoughts  on  other  matters  go  ; 
This  is  my  wedding  day,  j-ou  know." 
What  more  he  urged  I  have  not  heard, 

His  reasons  could  not  well  be  stronger  ; 
So  Death  the  poor  delinquent  spared, 

And  left  U)  live  a  little  longer. 
Yet,  calling  up  a  serious  look,  — 
His  hour-glass  trembled  while  he  spoke,  — 
"  N(.'ighb()r,"  he  said,  ''  farewell  ;   no  more 
Shall  Death  disturb  your  mirthful  hour  ; 
And,  farther,  to  avoid  all  blame 
Of  cruelty  upon  my  name, 


THE  THREE   WARNINGS.  101 

To  give  yon  time  for  pvepavatioii, 
And  fit  you  fur  your  future  stati(jii, 
Three  several  warnings  you  shall  have 
Before  you're  summoned  to  the  grave  : 
Willing,  for  once,  I'll  quit  my  pre}^ 

And  grant  a  kind  reprieve. 
In  liopes  3'ou'll  have  no  more  to  say, 
But,  when  I  call  again  this  way, 

Well  pleased  the  world  will  leave." 
To  these  conditions  both  consented, 
And  parted  perll-ctly  contented. 

What  next  the  hero  of  our  tale  befell. 
How  long  he  lived,  how  wise,  how  well. 
How  roundly  he  pursued  his  course. 
And  smoked  his  pipe,  and  stroked  his  horse, 

The  willing  Muse  shall  tell  : 
He  chaffered  then,  he  bought,  he  sold. 
Nor  once  perceived  his  growing  old, 

Nor  thought  of  Death  as  near  ; 
His  friends  not  false,  his  wife  no  shrew. 
Many  his  gains,  his  children  few, 

He  passed  his  hours  in  peace. 
But  while  he  viewed  his  wealth  increase. 
While  thus  along  life's  dusty  road 
The  beaten  track  content  he  trode, 
Old  Time,  whose  haste  no  mortal  spares, 
Uncalled,  unheeded,  unawares, 

Brought  on  his  eightieth  year. 
And  now  one  night,  in  musing  mood. 

As  all  alone  he  sate, 

The  unwelcome  messenger  of  fato 
Once  more  before  him  stood. 
Half  killed  with  anger  and  surprise, 
"  So  soon  returned  ?  "  old  Dobson  cries. 
"  So  soon,  d'ye  call  it  ?  "  Death  replies  ; 
"  Surely,  my  friend,  you're  but  in  jest ! 

Since  I  was  here  before 


102        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

'Tis  six  and  forty  yoarn  at  least, 

And  you  arc  now  fourscore  !  " 
"  So  niucli  the  worse,"  the  clown  rejoined  ; 
"  To  spare  the  aged  would  be  kind  ; 
Besides,  you  promised  me  Three  Warnings, 
AVhii'li  I  have  looked  for  nights  and  mornings  ! " 
"  1  know,"  cries  Death,  "  that  at  the  best, 
I  seldom  am  a  welcome  guest ; 
But  don't  be  captious,  friend,  at  least : 
I  little  thought  you'd  still  be  able 
To  stump  about  your  farm  and  stable  ; 
Your  years  have  run  to  a  great  length  : 
1  wish  you  joy,  though,  of  your  strength  !" 
"  Hold,"  says  the  farmer,  "  not  so  fast ! 
I  have  been  lame  these  four  years  past." 
"  And  no  great  wonder,"  Death  replies  : 
"  However,  you  still  keep  your  e3'e8, 
And  sure,  to  see  one's  loves  and  friends, 
For  legs  and  arms  must  make  amends." 
"  Perhaps,"  says  Dobson,  "so  it  might, 
But  latterly  I've  lost  my  sight." 
"  Tiiis  is  a  shocking  story,  faith  : 
But  there's  some  comfort  still,"  says  Death. 
"  Each  strives  your  sadness  to  amuse  ; 
I  warrant  you  hear  all  the  news." 
"  There's  none,"  cried  he  :  and  if  there  were 
I'm  grown  so  deaf,  I  could  not  hear." 
"  Nay,  then,"  the  spectre  stern  rejoined, 

"  Cease,  prythee,  cease  these  foolish  yearnings; 
If  you  are  deaf,  and  lame,  and  blind. 

You've  had  your  three  sufficient  warnings  ; 
So  come  along  !  no  more  we'll  part," 
lie  said,  and  touched  him  with  his  dart. 
And  now  old  Dobson,  turning  pale, 
Yields  to  his  fate.     So  cuds  my  tale. 

MBS.  TlIOALE. 


DER   lUBY.  103 


DER  BABY. 


SO  help  mo  gracious,  ofery  day 
I  laugli  mo  wild  to  sco  dor  vay 
My  schmall  young  baby  drio  to  play  — 
Dot  funny  lectio  baby. 

Vlion  I  look  on  dhcm  lectlc  toes, 
Und  saw  dot  funny  leetle  nose, 
Und  heard  der  vay  dot  rooster  crows, 
I  schmile  like  I  was  grazy. 

Und  vhon  I  heard  der  real  nice  vay 
Dhom  beoplos  to  my  wife  dhey  sa^', 
"  More  like  his  fatcr  every  day," 
1  vas  so  proud  like  blazes. 

Sometimes  dhore  comes  a  leetle  schquall. 
Dot's  vhon  der  vindy  vind  vill  crawl 
Righd  in  its  leetle  schtomach  schmall, — 
Dot's  too  bad  for  der  baby. 

Dot  makes  him  sing  at  night  so  scliveet, 
Und  gorrybarric  ho  nuist  eat, 
Uiid  1  must  chump  slipry  on  my  feet. 
To  help  dot  loetlo  baby. 

ITe  bulls  my  nose  and  kicks  my  hair, 
Und  grawls  me  ofbr  everywhoro, 
Und  shlobbors  me  —  but  vat  I  care  ? 

Dot  vas  my  schmall  young  baby. 

Around  my  head  dot  leetle  arm 
Vas  schquoeziu  mo  so  nice  and  varm  — 
0  !  may  dhere  never  coom  some  harm 
To  dot  schmall  leetle  baby. 


104        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


"GUILTY   OR   NOT  GUILTY?" 

SHE  stood  ut  the  bar  of  justice, 
A  creature  wan  and  wild, 
In  form  too  small  for  a  woman, 
In  feature  too  old  for  a  child  ; 
For  a  look  so  worn  and  pathetic 

Was  stamped  on  her  pale  young  face, 
It  seemed  long  years  of  suffering 
Must  have  left  that  silent  trace. 

"  Your  name,"  said  the  judge,  as  he  eyed  her, 

With  kindly  look,  yet  keen, 
"  Is  —  "      "  Mary  Maguire,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  And  your  age  ?  "     "I  am  turned  fifteen." 
"  Well,  Mary,"  —  and  then  from  a  paper 

He  -slowly  and  gravely  read,  — 
"  You  are  charged  here — I  am  sorry  to  say  it — 

^Vith  stealing  three  loaves  of  bread. 

"  You  look  not  like  an  offender, 

And  I  hope  that  3'ou  can  show 
The  charge  to  be  false.     Now,  tell  me, 

Are  you  guilty  of  this,  or  no  ?  " 
A  passionate  burst  of  weeping 

Was  at  first  her  sole  reply  ; 
But  she  dried  her  tears  in  a  moment. 

And  looked  in  the  judge's  eye. 

"  I  will  toll  you  just  how  it  was,  sir  ; 

My  father  and  mother  are  dead, 
Anrl  my  little  brothers  antl  sisters 

Were  liungiy,  and  asked  me  for  bread. 
At  first  I  earned  it  for  them, 

]'y  working  hard  all  day, 
But  somehow  the  times  were  hard,  sir, 

And  the  work  all  fell  away. 


"GUILTY   OR   NOT   GUILTY?"  105 

"  I  could  g'ct  no  more  cmploj'nicnt ; 

The  weather  was  bitter  cold  : 
The  3'ouug'  ones  cried  and  shivered 

(Little  Johnnie's  but  four  years  old)  ;  — 
So  what  was  I  to  do,  sir  ? 

I  am  guilty,  but  do  not  condemn  ; 
I  took  —  0  !  was  it  stealing  ? 

The  bread  to  give  to  them." 

Every  man  in  the  court-room  — 

Graybeard  and  thoughtless  youth  — 
Knew,  as  he  looked  upon  her. 

That  the  prisoner  spake  the  truth. 
Out  from  their  pockets  came  kerchiefs, 

Out  from  their  ej'cs  sprung  tears, 
And  out  from  old,  faded  wallets 

Treasures  hoarded  for  years. 

The  judge's  face  was  a  study, 

The  strangest  j'ou  ever  saw, 
As  he  cleared  his  throat  and  murmured 

Something  about  the  law. 
For  one  so  learned  in  such  matters. 

So  wise  in  dealing  with  men. 
He  seemed,  on  a  simple  question. 

Sorely  puzzled  just  then. 

But  no  one  blamed  him,  or  wondered 

When  at  last  these  words  they  heard  : 
"  The  Sentence  of  this  young  prisoner 

Is  fur  the  present  deferred." 
And  no  one  blamed  In'm  or  wondered 

When  he  went  to  her  and  smiled, 
And  tenderly  led  from  the  court-room, 

llimself,  the  "  guilty  "  child  ! 


lOG  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


MY  BALLOON  ASCENT. 

IT  was  in  one  of  my  balloon  ascents,  and  a  gentle- 
man named  Smith  had  engaged  himself  to  be  my 
companion  :  but  when  the  time  came  his  nerve  failed, 
and  I  looked  round  in  vain  for  the  person  who  was  to 
occupy  the  vacant  seat  in  the  car.  Having  waited  till 
the  last  possible  moment,  and  the  crowd  becoming 
impatient,  I  prepared  to  ascend  alone.  The  last  cord 
that  attached  me  to  the  earth  was  about  to  be  cast 
of}',  when  suddenly  a  gentleman  pushed  forward  and 
volunteered  to  go  with  me.  He  pressed  the  request 
with  so  much  earnestness,  that,  having  received  his 
promise  to  submit  in  every  point  to  my  directions,  I 
consented  to  receive  him  in  lieu  of  the  absentee ; 
whereupon  he  sprang  with  alacrity  into  the  car.  In 
another  minute  we  were  rising  above  the  trees ;  and, 
in  justice  to  my  companion,  I  must  say  I  never  saw 
any  one  exhibit  greater  coolness  and  self-possession. 
The  stranger  was  as  composed  as  if  he  had  been 
sitting  at  home  in  his  easy  arm-chair.  A  bird  could 
not  have  seemed  more  in  its  element ;  and  yet  he 
solemnly  assured  mo  that  he  had  never  been  in  a 
balloon  before.  Instead  of  evincing  any  alarm  at  our 
great  height  from  the  earth,  he  expressed  the  liveliest 
pleasure  whenever  I  emptied  one  or  two  bags  of  sand, 
and  he  even  urged  me  to  part  with  more  of  the  bal- 
last. In  the  mean  while  the  wind  carried  us  quietly 
along,  and  the  day  being  particularly  clear,  we  enjoyed 
a  delightful  bird's-eye  view  of  the  great  metropolis 
and  the  surrounding  country.  My  companion  listened 
with  great  interest,  while  I  pointed  out  to  him  the 


MY    BALLOON   ASCENT.  107 

various  objects  over  which  we  passed,  till  I  happened 
casually  to  observe  that  the  balloon  must  be  directly 
over  Hoxton.     My  fellow-traveller  then,  for  the  first 
time,  betrayed  some  uneasiness,  and  anxiously  asked 
whether  I  thought  he  could  be  recognized  by  any  one 
at  our  then  distance  from  the  earth.     I  told  him  it  was 
quite  impossible.      Nevertheless,  he   continued  very 
uneasy,  frequently  saying,  "  I  hope   they  don't   see 
me,"  and  entreating  me  earnestly  to  let  go  more  bal- 
last.    I  said,  ''Do  you  live  at  Hoxton?"     He  said, 
"  Yes,  yes,"   and   urged   me    again,  and   with   great 
vehemence,  to  empty  the  remaining  sand-bags.     This, 
however,  was   out  of  the    question,  considering   the 
height  of  the  balloon,  the  course  of  the  wind,  and  the 
proximit}^  of  the  sea-coast.    But  my  comrade  was  deaf 
to  these  reasons ;  he  insisted  on  going  higher ;  and  on 
my  firmly  refusing  to  let  go  more  ballast,  he  deliber- 
ately pulled  off,  and  threw  his  hat,  coat,  and  waistcoat 
overboard.     "Huzza!  that  lightened  her!"  he  shouted. 
"  But  it's  not  enough  yet ;  "  and  he  began  to  untie  his 
cravat.     "Nonsense,"  said  I,  "my  good  fellow;  nobody 
can  recognize  you  at  this  distance,  even  with  a  tel- 
escope."    "  Don't   be    too    sure  of  that,"  he  sharply 
retorted  ;   "  they  have   sharp  eyes  at  Miles's."     "  At 
where  ?  "  said  I.     "  At  Miles's  Madhouse,"  shouted  he. 
Then  the  truth  flashed  upon  me  in  an  instant :  I  was 
sitting  in  the    frail    car  of  a  balloon,  literally  in  the 
clouds,  with  a  lunatic !     The  horrors  of  the  situation 
for  a  moment  seemed  to  deprive  me  of  my  senses.     A 
sudden  freak,  a  transient  fury,  a  single  struggle,  would 
send  both  of  us  into  eternity  !     In  the  mean  while  the 
maniac,  having  divested  himself  successively  of  shoes, 
stockings,  trousers,  and  everything,  threw  each  to  the 


108  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

winds,  repenting  his  insane  cry,  "  Higher !  higher  1 
liigher ! ''  1  remained  perlectly  silent.  But  judge 
ol'  my  terror  when,  having  thrown  his  shirt  over- 
board, he  solennily  said,  "We  are  not  yet  high  enough 
by  a  thousand  miles ;  one  of"  us  must  throw  out  the 
other."  To  describe  m'y  feelings  at  this  speech  would 
be  simply  impossible.  Cold  as  the  atmosphere  felt, 
intensely  cold,  yet  great  beads  of  perspiration  rolled 
olT  from  me.  It  was  horrible  !  horrible  !  Words, 
remonstrances,  prayers,  were  useless.  I  had  better 
have  been  unarmed  in  the  Avildcrness,  surrounded  by 
wild  Indians.  I  saw  the  lunatic  deliberately  heave 
the  one,  and  then  the  other,  bag  of  ballast  from  the 
car,  the  balloon,  of  course,  rising  with  proportionate 
rapidity.  Up,  up,  up  it  soared,  to  an  altitude  I  dared 
not  contemplate.  Earth  was  lost  to  my  eyes,  and  huge 
clouds  rolled  beneath  us.  I  felt  the  world  was  gone 
forever. 

"  Have  you  a  wife  and  children  ? "  he  asked,  ab- 
ruptly. 

r  replied  that  I  had  a  dear  wife  and  six  little  ones 
depending  on  mo  for  their  bread. 

"  Ila  !  ha  !"  laughed  the  maniac,  with  a  thrill  that 
chillud  the  very  marrow  in  my  bones.  "  I  have  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  wives,  and  five  thousand  and 
eighty  children,  and  if  you  did  not  make  this  balloon 
80  heavy  I  should  have  been  home  with  them  long 
ago." 

"  And  wlierc  d(5  they  live  ?  "  I  asked,  anxious  to  gain 
time  by  any  question  that  first  occurred  to  me. 

"In  the  moon  ! "  re[)lied  the  maniac.  "  And  when 
I  have  lightened  this  car  once  more  I  shall  Ijc  there  in 
no  time  1" 


MRS.    JUNE'S   PROSPECTUS.  109 

I  heard  no  more  —  he  siuklenly  spranj^  upon  me, 
and  throwing  his  arms  round  mc,  grasped  me  round 
the  body,  when  —  I  awoke,  and  found  it  was  a  night- 
mare !  And  hoping  tliat  none  of  you  may  have  such 
a  one,  we  wish  you  "  Good  night,  and  pleasant 
dreams." 


MRS.   JUNE'S   PROSPECTUS. 

RS.  JUNE  is  ready  for  school, 
Presents  her  kind  regard, 
And  for  measures  and  rule 
Refers  to  the  following 

Card. 

To  Parents  and  Friends  : 
Mrs.  June, 
Of  the  firm  of  Summer  and  Sun, 
Announces  the  opening  of  her  school 
(Estabhshed  in  the  year  One). 

An  unUmited  number  is  received  ; 

Tliere  is  nothing  at  all  to  pay  ; 
All  that  is  asked  is  a  merry  heart, 

And  time  enough  to  be  gay. 

The  Junior  class  will  bring, 

In  lieu  of  all  supplies. 
Eight  little  fingers  and  two  thumbs 

For  the  making  of  pretty  sand  pies. 

The  Senior  class,  a  mouth 
For  strawberries  and  cream  ; 

A  nose  apiece  for  a  rose  apiece, 
And  a  tendency  to  dream. 
8 


no  YOUNG   folks'   readings. 

The  lectures  arc  thus  arranged  : 

Professor  Cherry  Tree 
Will  lecture  to  the  climbing  class  ; 

Terras  of  instruction  —  free. 

Professor  De  Forrest  Spring 

^ViIl  take  the  class  in  drink, 
And  the  class  in  titillation 

Sage  Mr.  Bobolink. 

Young  Mr.  Oxej'^e  Daisy 

Will  demonstrate  each  day 
On  "  botany,"  on  "  native  plants," 

And  "  the  properties  of  hay." 

Miss  Nature  the  class  in  fun 

(A  charming  class  to  teach) ; 
And  the  swinghig  class  and  the  bird's-nest  class 

Miss  Hickory  and  Miss  Beech. 

And  the  sleepy  class  at  night, 

And  the  dirnier  class  at  noon, 
And  the  fat,  and  laugh,  and  roses  class, 

They  fall  to  Mrs.  June. 

And  slio  hopes  her  little  friends 

Will  be  punctual  as  the  sun, 
For  the  term,  alas  !  is  very  short. 

And  she  wants  them  every  one. 

SfSAN  COOLIDOE. 


THE  KING   OF  DENMAEK'S   RIDE.  Ill 


THE   KING   OF   DENMARK'S   HIDE. 


W 


70RD  was  brought  to  the  Danish  king-, 


(Ilnrry  !) 

That  the  love  of  his  heart  lay  suflering-, 
And  pined  for  the  comfort  his  voice  would  bring  ; 

(0,  ride  as  if  you  were  flying  !) 
Better  he  loves  each  golden  curl, 
On  the  brow  of  that  Scandinavian  girl. 
Than  his  rich  crown-jewels  of  ruby  and  pearl ; 

And  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  is  dying. 


Thirty  nobles  saddled  with  speed  ; 

(Hurry  !) 
Each  one  mounted  a  gallant  steed. 
Which  he  kept  for  battle  and  days  of  need ; 

(0,  ride  as  though  you  wore  flying  !) 
Spurs  were  stuck  in  the  foaming  flank, 
Worn-out  chargers  staggered  and  sank  ; 
Bridles  were  slackened,  and  girths  were  burst ; 
But,  ride  as  they  woulil,  the  king  rode  first, 

For  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  lay  dying. 


Ilis  nobles  are  beaten,  one  by  one  ; 

(Hurry!) 
They  have  fainted,  and  faltered,  and  homeward  gone  ; 
The  little  fair  page  now  follows  alone. 

For  strength  and  for  courage  trj'ing. 
The  king  looked  back  at  that  faithful  child  ; 
AVan  Avns  tlie  face  that  aiiswcrinii-  smiled. 
They  passed  the  drawbridge  with  clattering  din, 
Then  he  dropped,  and  only  the  king  rode  in 

Where  his  Rose  of  the  Isles  lay  dying. 


112  YOUNG  FOLKS  READINGS. 

The  king  blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle-horn  : 

(Sik'iico  !) 
2S'o  answer  came,  but  fuint  and  forlorn 
An  echo  returned  on  the  cold,  gray  morn, 

Like  the  breath  of  a  spirit  sighing. 
The  castle  portul  stood  g;  iinly  wide  ; 
None  welcomed  the  king  from  that  weary  ride  ! 
For,  dead  in  the  light  of  the  dawning  day, 
The  pale,  sweet  form  of  the  welcomer  lay, 

Who  had  yearned  for  his  voice  in  dying. 

The  panting  steed,  with  a  drooping  crest, 

Stood  weary  ; 
The  king  returned  from  the  chamber  of  rest. 
The  thick  sobs  choking  in  his  breast,  — 

And  that  dumb  companion  eyeing  ; 
The  tears  gushed  forth,  which  he  strove  to  check  ; 
lie  bowed  iiis  head  on  the  charger's  neclf,  — 
"  0  steed,  that  every  nerve  didst  strain,  — 
Dear  steed  !  our  ride  hath  been  in  vain 

To  the  halls  where  my  love  lay  dying. 

C'AUOLINL   E.    NORTOV. 


THE  FORGET-ME-NOT. 

11 'HEX  God  liad  created  all  the  flowers,  and  had 
VV  given  them  roots,  stems,  and  leaves,  he  also 
painted  them  very  beautifully  in  many  colors,  and 
gave  each  of  them  a  name.  One  flower  that  was  very 
fragrant,  and  had  many  pink  leaves,  he  called  a  Rose. 
Another  little  flower,  with  five  purple  leaves,  he  called 
a  Violet.  Another,  witli  little  snow-white  bells,  he 
called    Lily  of  the   Valley,  and  a  large   flower,  with 


THE   FORGET-ME-NOT.  113 

many  yellow  leaves,  like  sun-rays,  he  called  Sun- 
flower. 

Each  flower  went  away  to  its  own  home,  and  was 
very  happy,  and  each  one  spoke  its  name  slowly  as  it 
went,  so  that  it  might  not  forget  it.  Only  one  tiny 
flower,  with  a  dress  as  clear  and  blue  as  tiie  sky  over- 
head, stood  close  by  the  brook,  and  was  very  sorrow- 
ful. Many,  many  tears  dropped  out  of  its  eyes  be- 
cause it  had  forgotten  its  name. 

But  God  had  seen  the  little  flower's  sorrow,  and  he 
knew  why  it  wept.  So  he  lovingly  dried  its  tears, 
and  said,  "  Weep  no  more,  little  flower.  I  will  for- 
give you  tliat  you  have  forgotten  your  name,  and  I 
will  give  you  a  new  name  which  you  can  easily  re- 
member. You  might  forget  your  own  name  some- 
times, but  you  must  never  forget  my  name  ;  and  so, 
to  remind  you  of  this,  I  Avill  call  you  'Forget-me- 
not'  " 

Then  the  little  blue  flower  was  very  glad.  It  looked 
so  cheerful  and  trusting  that  everybody  who  saw  it 
loved  it.  And  so  it  is  to  this  very  day.  And  to  every 
one  its  tiny  voice  says,  — 

"  The  Lord  above,  wlio  made  my  dress, 

So  beautiful  and  blue, 
Who  sends  the  blessed  sunshine  down. 

And  the  refreshing  dew, 
Through  me  speaks  to  each  little  one, 

'  Be  thankful  for  your  lot ; 
Think  who  sends  down  each  perfect  gift, 

And  O,  "  forget-me-not !  "  '" 

8 


114  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE   LITTLE   READER. 

A  HARD,  stern  man  \ipon  a  sick  bod  lay, 
Mure  and  more  i'eeble  with  each  passing  day  ; 
No  lialK)\viiifi^  gleam  of  heavenly  peace  was  there  — 
No  ray  of  love  divine  —  no  breath  of  prayer. 

Kind  Christian  friends,  on  holiest  mission  bent. 
Came  bright  and  hopeful,  —  sad  and  anxious  went. 
Harder  and  sterner  still  the  Atheist  grew  ; 
The  flinty  heart  no  answering  softness  knew. 

Angr}^  at  last,  at  each  persistent  call, 
Willi  firm  refusal  he  defied  them  all  ; 
The  Saviour's  sacred  name  he  would  not  hear, 
His  loving  words  could  find  no  listening  car. 

"  Wife  !  fetch  the  blackboard  —  and  a  bit  of  chalk  I 
One  way  remains  to  stop  this  senseless  talk  ; 
I  will  wrile  somelhing,  which  is  truth  indeed, 
And  have  it  placed  where  every  one  may  read." 

The  thin,  weak  hand,  that  scarce  the  chalk  could  hold. 
Wrote  "  COD  IS  NOWHERE  ;  "  large,  and  clear,  and  bold. 
That  fearful  sentence  met  his  waking  sight, 
In  wretched  mockery,  by  day  and  night. 

Time  crr-pt  along  —  hour  after  hour  passed  o'er. 
While  the  death-angel  still  his  touch  forbore  ; 
Lower  and  lower  burned  the  flickering  flame. 
And,  slower  yet,  the  fitful  pulses  came. 

Tlien,  Jwppier  change  rcpaiil  the  anxious  view. 
And  hope,  so  long  denied,  sprung  forth  anew  ; 
Through  every  vein  a  fuller  current  fiowed. 
And  Heaven  once  more  the  gift  of  life  bestowed. 


THE   LITTLE   READER.  115 

Soon  the  fond  father  soiig-ht  his  banished  chihl, 
Who  erst,  with  prattle  sweet,  liis  heart  beg-iiik'd  ; 
Clianned  to  come  back,  she  told  her  little  news, 
And  bhovvcd  her  "nice  new  gown  and  pretty  shoes." 

"  And  that's  not  all,"  —  the  tones  grew  eager  now,  — 
"  For  I  can  read  —  my  aunty  taught  me  how." 
"  Nonsense,  my  dear  !  "  the  lather  quick  replied, 
"  You  cannot  read,  my  child,  I'm  satisiied." 

"  Yes,  father,  dear  !  0,  yos  !  I  truly  can, 
For  aunty  taught  mo,"  —  and  the  child  began 
To  look  around,  perchance  to  find  some  way 
Of  proving  what  her  words  had  failed  to  say. 


>> 


The  father  smiled  —  and,  pointing  to  the  wall, 
Said,  "  Well,  read  that,  if  you  can  read  at  all 
She  hesitated  —  and  the  father  spoke  — 
"  I  told  you  so  —  I  knew  it  was  a  joke." 

But  still  she  kept  her  deep  and  earnest  eyes 
Fixed  on  the  board  ;  and  soon,  in  glad  surprise, 
E.xclaimed,  "  1  know  it  now  !      0,  yes  !   1  see  ! 
GOD  — IS  — NOW  — HERE.     That  last  word  puzzled 
me." 

The  conscience-stricken  man,  in  mute  amaze, 
Covered  his  face,  to  hide  her  startled  gaze, 
While,  from  the  rocky  fount,  untouched  for  years, 
Burst  forth  a  flood  of  pure  and  holy  tears. 

"  My  God  !  my  child  I  —  and  has  my  darling  learned, 
What  /,  with  death  so  near,  denied  and  spurned  ? 
Father  !  forgive  —  and  fill,  with  love  divine, 
That  liie  thy  mercy  spared,  now  wholly  thine.'' 

Olive  Leaf. 


116  YOUNG  folks'  headings. 


THE  CARRIAGE  AND  COUPLE. 

A    MAN  in  his  carriage  was  riding  along, 
J.  Jl    A  gayly-drcssod  wife  by  his  side  ; 
In  satin  and  lace  she  looked  like  a  queen, 
And  he,  like  a  king  in  his  pride. 

A  wood-sawyer  stood  on  the  street  as  they  passed  ; 

The  carriage  and  couple  ho  eyed, 
And  said,  as  he  worked  with  his  saw  on  a  log, 

"  I  wish  I  was  rich  and  could  ride." 

The  man  in  the  carriage  remarked  to  his  wife, 

"  One  thing  I  would  do  if  1  could  — 
I'd  give  all  my  wealth  for  the  strength  and  the  health 

Of  the  man  who  is  sawing  the  wood." 

A  pretty  young  maid  with  a  bundle  of  work, 

Whose  face  as  the  mcjrning  was  fair, 
Went  tripping  along  with  a  smile  of  delight, 

While  humming  a  love-breathing  air. 

She  looked  in  the  carriage,  the  lady  she  saw. 

Arrayed  in  apparel  so  fine, 
And  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  I  wish  from  my  heart 

Those  satins  and  laces  were  mine." 

The  lady  looked  out  on  the  maid  with  her  work. 

So  fair  in  her  calico  dress. 
And  said,  "  I'd  relinquish  position  and  wealth 

ller  beauty  and  youth  to  possess." 

Thus  it  is  ill  this  world  ;  whatever  our  lot. 

Our  minds  and  our  time  we  employ 
In  longing  and  sighing  ff)r  what  we  have  not, 

Ungrateful  for  what  we  enjoy. 


,  LITTLE   DIAMOND    AND    THE   DRUNKEN    CABMAN.      117 

Wo  welcome  the  pleasure  for  wlacli  we  have  Biglied  ; 

The  lieart  has  a  void  i:i  it  still, 
Growing  deeper  and  \vid(,'r  the  longer  wo  live, 

That  nought  but  lleligiou  can  fill. 


LITTLE   DIAMOND   AND   THE   DRUNKEN 

CABMAN. 

ONE  night  little  Diamond  woke  up  suddenly,  believ- 
ing he  heard  the  North  Wind  thundering  along. 
But  it  was  something  quite  dillerent.  South  Wind 
was  moaning  round  the  chimneys,  but  it  was  not  her 
voice  that  had  wakened  Diamond.  Her  voice  Avould 
only  have  lulled  him  the  deeper  asleep.  It  was  a  loud, 
angry  voice,  now  growling  like  that  of  a  beast,  now 
raving  like  that  of  a  madman ;  and  when  Diamond 
came  a  little  wider  awake,  he  knew  that  it  was  the 
voice  of  the  drunken  cabman,  the  wall  of  whose  room 
was  at  the  head  of  his  bed.  It  was  anything  but 
pleasant  to  hear,  but  he  could  not  help  hearing  it. 
At  length  there  came  a  cry  from  the  woman,  and  then 
a  scream  from  the  baby.  Thereupon  Diamond  tlrought 
it  time  that  somebody  did  something  ;  and  as  himself 
was  the  only  somebody  at  hand,  he  must  go  and  see 
whether  he  could  not  do  the  something. 

So  ho  got  up  and  put  on  part  of  his  clothes,  and 
went  down  the  stair,  out  into  the  yard,  and  in  at  the 
next  door.  This,  fortunately,  the  cabman,  being  drunk, 
had  left  open. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  stair  all  was  still,  ex- 
cept the  voice  of  the  crying  baby,  which  guided  him 
to  the  right  door.     He  opened  it  softly,  and  peeped  in. 


118  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

There,  leaning  back  in  a  cliair,  with  his  arms  hanging 
down  by  his  side,  and  his  logs  stretched  out  before 
liim  and  supported  on  his  heels,  sat  the  drunken  cab- 
man. Ilis  wile  lay  in  her  clothes  upon  the  bed,  sob- 
bing, and  the  baby  was  Availing  in  the  cradle.  It  was 
very  miserable  altogether. 

Now  the  way  most  people  do  when  they  see  any- 
thing very  miserable,  is  to  turn  away  from  the  sight, 
and  try  to  forget  it.  But  Diamond  began,  as  usual,  to 
try  to  destroy  the  misery.  The  little  boy.  Diamond, 
was  just  as  much  one  of  God's  messengers  as  if  he  had 
been  an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword,  going  out  to  fight 
the  devil.  Tiie  devil  he  had  to  fight  just  then  was 
Misery.  And  the  way  he  fought  him  was  the  very 
best.  Like  a  wise  soldier,  he  attacked  him  first  in  his 
weakest  point  —  that  was  the  baby;  for  Misery  can 
never  get  such  a  hold  of  a  baby  as  of  a  grown  person. 
Diamond  was  knowing  in  babies,  and  he  knew  he  could 
do  something  to  make  the  baby  happy.  I  have  known 
people  who  would  have  begun  to  fight  the  devil  in  a 
very  different  and  a  very  stupid  way.  They  would 
have  begun  by  scolding  the  idiotic  cabman ;  and  next 
they  would  make  his  wife  angry  by  saying  it  must  be 
lier  fault  as  well  as  his,  and  by  leaving  ill-bred,  though 
well-meant,  shabby  little  books  for  them  to  read,  wliich 
they  were  sure  to  hate  the  sight  of;  while  all  the  time 
they  would  not  have  put  out  a  finger  to  touch  the 
wailing  baby.  But  Diamond  had  him  out  of  the  cradle 
in  a  moment,  set  him  up  on  his  knee,  and  told  him  to 
look  at  the  light. 

Now  all  the  light  there  was  came  only  from  a  lamp 
in  tlic  yard,  and  it  was  a  very  dingy  and  yellow  light, 
for  the  glass  of  the  lamp  was  dirty,  and  the  gas  was 


LITTLE    DL\MOND   AND   THE   DRUNKEN   CABMAN.      119 

bad  ;  but  the  light  that  came  from  it  was,  notwith- 
standing, as  certainly  light  as  if  it  had  come  from  the 
sun  itself,  and  the  baby  knew  that,  and  smiled  to  it ; 
and  altliough  it  was,  indeed,  a  wretclied  room  wliich 
that  lamp  lighted,  —  so  dreary,  and  dirty,  and  empty, 
and  hopeless  !  —  there  in  the  middle  of  it  sat  Diamond 
on  a  stool,  smiling  to  the  baby,  and  the  baby  on  his 
knees  smiling  to  the  lamp. 

The  father  of  him  sat  staring  at  nothing,  neither 
asleep  nor  awake,  not  quite  lost  in  stupidity  either, 
for  through  it  all  he  was  dimly  angry  with  himself,  he 
did  not  know  why.  It  was  that  he  had  struck  his 
wife.  He  liad  forgotten  it,  but  was  miserable  about 
it  notwithstanding.  And  this  misery  was  the  voice 
of  the  great  Love  that  had  made  him  and  his  wife  and 
the  baby  and  Diamond  speaking  in  his  heart,  and  tell- 
ing him  to  be  good.  For  that  great  Love  speaks  in 
the  most  wretched  and  dirty  hearts  ;  only  the  tone  of 
its  voice  depends  on  the  echoes  of  the  place  in  which 
it  sounds.  On  Mount  Sinai  it  was  thunder  ;  in  the 
cabman's  lieart  it  was  misery ;  in  the  soul  of  St.  Jolin 
it  was  perfect  blessedness. 

By  and  by  he  became  aware  that  there  Avas  a  voice 
of  singing  in  the  room.  This,  of  course,  was  the  voice 
of  Diamond  singing  to  the  baby  —  song  after  song, 
every  one  as  fooHsh  as  another  to  the  cabman,  for  he 
was  too  tipsy  to  part  one  word  from  another ;  all  the 
words  mixed  up  in  his  ear  in  a  gurgle,  without  division 
or  stop ;  for  such  was  the  way  he  spoke  himself,  when 
he  was  in  this  horrid  condition.  But  the  baby  was 
more  than  content  with  Diamond's  songs,  and  Diamond 
himself  was  so  contented  with  wliat  the  songs  were  all 
about,  that  he  did  not  care  a  bit  about  the  songs  them- 


120  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

selves,  if  only  baby  liked  tliem.  But  they  did  the 
cabman  good  as  well  as  the  baby  and  Diamond,  for 
they  put  him  to  sleep,  and  the  sleep  was  busy  all 
the  time  it  lasted,  smoothing  the  wrinkles  out  of  his 
temper. 

At  length  Diamond  grew  tired  of  singing,  and  began 
to  talk  to  the  baby  instead.  And  as  soon  as  he  stopped 
singing,  the  cabman  began  to  wake  up.  His  brain  was 
a  little  clearer  now,  his  temper  a  little  smoother,  and 
his  heart  not  quite  so  dirty.  He  began  to  listen,  and 
he  went  on  listening,  and  heard  Diamond  saying  to 
the  baby  something  like  this,  for  he  thought  the  cab- 
man was  asleep :  — 

''  Poor  daddy  !  Baby's  daddy  takes  too  much  beer 
and  gin,  and  that  makes  liim  somebody  else,  and  not 
his  own  self  at  all.  Baby's  daddy  would  never  hit 
baby's  mammy  if  he  didn't  take  too  much  beer.  He's 
very  fond  of  baby's  mammy,  and  Avorks  from  morning 
to  night  to  get  her  breakfast  and  dinner  and  supper, 
only  at  night  he  forgets,  and  pays  the  money  away  for 
beer.  And  they  put  nasty  stuff  in  the  beer,  I've  heard 
my  daddy  say,  that  drives  all  the  good  out,  and  lets  all 
the  bad  in.  Daddy  says  when  a  man  takes  to  drink, 
there's  a  thirsty  devil  creeps  into  his  inside,  because 
he  knows  he  will  always  get  enough  there.  And  the 
devil  is  always  crying  out  for  more  drink,  and  that 
makes  the  man  thirsty,  and  so  he  drinks  more  and 
more,  till  he  kills  himself  with  it.  And  then  the  ugly 
devil  creeps  out  of  him,  and  crawls  about  on  his  belly, 
looking  for  some  other  cabman  to  get  into,  that  he  may 
drink,  drink,  drink. 

"  'i'hat's  what  my  daddy  says,  baby.  And  he  says, 
too,  the  only  way  to  make  the  devil  come  out,  is  to 


LITTLE   DLVMOXD    AND   THE  DRUNKEN   CABMAN.      121 

give  him  plenty  of  cold  water  and  tea  and  coffee,  and 
nothing  at  all  that  comes  from  the  public-house  ;  for  the 
devil  can't  abide  that  kind  of  stuff,  and  creeps  out  pretty 
soon,  for  fear  of  being  drowned  in  it.  But  your  daddy 
ivill  drink  the  nasty  stuff,  poor  man !  I  wish  he 
wouldn't,  for  it  makes  mammy  cross  with  him,  and  no 
wonder !  and  tlien  when  mammy's  cross,  he's  crosser, 
and  there's  nobody  in  the  house  to  take  care  of  them 
but  baby  ;  and  you  do  take  care  of  them,  baby  —  don't 
you,  baby  ?  I  know  you  do.  Babies  always  take 
care  of  their  fathers  and  mothers  —  don't  they,  baby  ? 
That's  what  they  come  for  —  isn't  it,  baby?  And 
when  daddy  stops  drinking  beer,  and  nasty  gin  with 
turpentine  in  it,  father  says,  then  mammy  luill  be  so 
happy,  and  look  so  pretty  !  and  daddy  will  be  so  good 
to  baby  !  and  baby  will  be  as  happy  as  a  swallow, 
which  is  the  merriest  fellow  !  And  Diamond  will  be 
so  happy,  too  !  And  when  Diamond's  a  man,  he'll 
take  baby  out  with  him  on  the  box,  and  teach  him  to 
drive  a  cab," 

He  went  on  with  chatter  like  this  till  baby  was 
asleep,  by  which  time  he  was  tired,  and  father  and 
mother  were  both  wide  awake,  —  only  rather  con- 
fused —  the  one  from  beer,  the  other  from  the  blow, 
—  and  staring,  the  one  from  his  chair,  the  other  from 
her  bed,  at  Diamond.  But  he  Avas  quite  unaware  of 
their  notice,  for  he  sat  half  asleep,  with  his  eyes  wide 
open,  staring  in  his  turn,  though  without  knowing  it, 
at  the  cabman,  while  the  cabman  could  not  withdraw 
his  gaze  from  Diamond's  white  face  and  big  eyes. 
For  Diamond's  face  was  always  rather  pale,  and  now 
it  was  paler  than  usual  with  sleeplessness,  and  the 
light  of  the  street  lamp  upon  it.     At  length  he  found 


122  YOUNG  folks'  eeadikgs. 

himself  nodding,  and  he  knew  then  it  was  time  to  put 
the  baby  down,  lest  he  should  let  him  fall.  So  he  rose 
from  the  little  three-legged  stool,  and  laid  the  baby  in 
the  cradle,  and  covered  him  up,  and  then  he  all  but 
staggered  out  of  the  door,  he  was  so  tipsy  himself 
with  sleep. 

''  "Wife,"  said  the  cabman,  turning  towards  the  bed, 
"  I  do  somehow  believe  that  wur  a  angel  just  gone. 
Did  you  see  him,  wife  ?  He  warn't  wery  big,  and  he 
hadn't  got  none  o'  them  wingses,  you  know.  It  wur 
one  o'  them  baby-angels  you  sees  on  the  gravestones, 
you  know." 

"  Nonsense,  hubby  1 "  said  his  wife  ;  ''  but  it's  just 
as  good.  I  might  say  better,  for  you  can  ketch  hold 
of  liim  when  you  like.  That's  little  Diamond,  as  every- 
body knows,  and  a  duck  o'  diamonds  he  is !  No  woman 
could  wish  for  a  better  child  than  he  be." 

"  I  ha'  heard  on  him  in  the  stable,  but  I  never  see 
the  brat  afore.  Come,  old  girl,  let  bygones  be  bygones, 
and  gie  us  a  kiss,  and  make  up." 

She  was  a  good-natured  woman.  And  her  husband 
was  not  an  ill-natured  man,  either ;  and  when  in  the 
morning  he  recalled  not  only  Diamond's  visit,  but 
how  he  himself  had  behaved  to  his  wife,  he  was  very 
vexed  witli  himself,  and  gladdened  his  poor  wife's 
heart  by  telling  her  how  sorry  he  was.  And  for  a 
whole  week  after  he  did  not  go  near  the  public-house, 
hard  as  it  was  to  avoid  it,  seeing  a  certain  rich  brewer 
had  l;uilt  one,  like  a  trap  to  catch  souls  and  bodies  in, 
at  almost  every  corner  ho  had  to  pass  on  his  way  home. 
Indeed,  he  was  never  quite  so  bad  after  that,  though  it 
was  some  time  before  he  began  really  to  reform. 

GiiOEGE  MaCDONALD. 


SANTA   CLAUS   AND   THE   MOTHERLESS   CHILDREN.      123 


SANTA    CLAUS    AXD    THE    MOTHERLESS 

CHILDREN. 

A    CHRISTMAS    POEM. 

"pWAS  the  ovo  before  Christmas  ;   "  Good  night  "  had 

JL  •  been  said, 

And  Annie  and  Willie  had  crept  into  bed  ; 
There  were  tears  on  their  pillows  and  tears  in  their  eyes, 
And  each  little  bosom  was  heavy  with  sighs  ; 
For  to-night  their  stern  father's  command  had  been  given 
That  they  should  retire  precisely  at  seven, 
Instead  of  eight ;  for  they  troubled  him  more 
With  questions  unheard  of  than  ever  before. 
lie  had  told  them  he  thought  this  delusion  a  sin, 
No  such  being  aS  "  Santa  Glaus  "  ever  had  been. 
And  he  hoped,  after  this,  he  should  never  more  hear 
IIow  he  scrambled  down  chimneys  with  presents  eacu 

year. 
And  this  was  the  reason  that  two  little  heads 
So  restlessly  tossed  on  their  soft,  downy  beds. 

Eight,  nine,  and  the  clock  on  the  steeple  tolled  ten  ; 
Not  a  wor(l  had  been  spoken  by  either  till  then, 
When  Willie's  sad  face  from  the  blanket  did  peep. 
And  whispered,  "  Dear  Annie,  is  you  fast  asleep  ?" 
"  Why,  no,  brother  Willie,"  a  sweet  voice  replies  ; 
"  I've  tried  it  in  vain,  but  can't  shut  my  eyes  ; 
For  somehow  it  makes  me  so  sorry  because 
Dear  papa  has  said  there  is  no  '  Santa  Claus.' 
Now  we  know  there  is,  and  it  can't  be  denied, 
For  he  came  every  year  before  mamma  died  ; 
But,  then,  I've  been  thinking  that  she  used  to  pray, 
And  God  woukl  hear  everything  mamma  would  say, 
And  perhaps  she  asked  him  to  send  Santa  Claus  here. 
With  the  sacks  full  of  presents  he  brought  every  year." 


124  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Well,  why  tan't  we  pay  dost  as  mamma  did  then, 

And  ask  Ilini  to  send  him  with  presents  aden  ?  " 

"  I've  been  tliiiiking  so,  too."     And  without  a  word  more, 

Four  little  bare  I'eet  bounded  out  on  the  lloor, 

And  four  little  knees  the  soft  carpet  pressed, 

And  two  tiny  hands  were  clasped  close  to  each  breast. 

"  Now,  Willie,  you  know  we  must  firmly  believe 
That  the  present  we  ask  for  we're  sure  to  receive  ; 
You  must  wait  just  as  still  till  I  say  the  '  Amen,' 
And  by  that  you  will  know  that  your  turn  has  come  then." 

"  Dear  Jesus,  look  down  on  my  brother  and  me, 
And  grant  us  the  favor  we're  asking  of  thee  ; 
I  want  a  wax  dolly,  a  tea-set  and  ring, 
And  an  ebony  \s^)rk-box  that  shuts  with  a  spring. 
Bless  papa,  dear  Jesus,  and  cause  him  to  see 
That  Santa  Claus  loves  us  far  better  than  he. 
Don't  let  him  get  fretful  and  angry  again 
At  dear  brother  Willie  and  Annie.     Amen." 

"  Please,  Desua,  'et  Santa  Taus  tum  down  to-night, 
And  bring  us  some  presents  before  it  is  'iglit. 
I  want  h(!  sli(Mjld  dive  me  a  nice  little  sed. 
With  bright,  shiny  runners,  and  all  painted  yed  ; 
A  box  full  of  tandy,  a  book  and  a  toy. 
Amen,  and  then,  Desus,  I'll  bo  a  good  boy." 

Their  prayers  being  ended,  they  raised  up  their  heads. 
And  with  hearts  light  and  cheerful  again  sought  their  beds; 
The}'  were  soon  lost  in  slumber,  both  peaceful  and  deep, 
And  with  fairies  in  dreamland  were  roaming  in  sleep. 

Eight,  nine,  and  the  little  French  clock  had  struck  ten. 
Ere  the  father  had  tlioiight  of  his  children  again  ; 
lie  seeniH  now  to  hear  Annie's  half-suppressed  sighs, 
And  to  see  tlic  big  t<;ars  stand  in  Willie's  blue  eyes. 
"  I  was  harsh  with  my  darlings,"  he  mentally  said, 
"  And  should  not  have  sent  tiieni  so  early  to  bed. 


SANTA   GLAUS   AND   THE   MOTHERLESS   tlllLDKEX.      125 

But  then  I  was  troubled  ;  my  feelings  found  vent, 
For  biuik  stock  to-day  has  gone  down  ten  per  cent. 
But  of  course  they've  forgot  their  troubles  ere  this, 
And  that  I  denied  them  the  thrice-asked-1'or  kiss  ; 
But  just  to  make  sure,  I'll  steal  up  to  their  door, 
For  I  never  spoke  harsh  to  my  darlings  before." 

So  saying,  he  softly  ascended  the  stairs, 

And  arrived  at  tlie  door  to  hear  botli  of  their  prayers. 

His  Annie's  "bless  papa"  draws  forth  the  big  tears, 

And  Willie's  grave  promise  falls  sweet  on  his  ears. 

"  Strange,  strange  I'd  Ibrgotten,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh, 

"  How  1  longed  when  a  child  to  have  Christmas  draw  nigh. 

I'll  atone  for  my  harshness,"  he  inwardly  said, 

"  By  answering  their  prayers  ere  I  sleep  in  my  bed." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  stairs,  and  softly  went  down, 
Threw  off'  velvet  slippers  and  silk  dressing  gown. 
Donned  hat,  coat,  and  boots,  and  was  out  in  the  street, 
A  millionnaire  facing  the  cold,  driving  sleet. 
Nor  stopped  he  until  he  had  bought  everything. 
From  the  box  full  of  cand}'  to  the  tiny  gold  ji-ing  ; 
Indeed,  he  kept  adding  so  much  to  his  store 
That  the  various  presents  outnumbered  a  score. 
Then  homeward  he  turned  with  his  holiday  load, 
And  with  Aunt  Mary's  aid  in  the  nursery  'twas  stowed. 

Miss  Dolly  was  seated  beneath  a  pine  tree. 

By  the  side  of  a  table  spread  out  for  her  tea  ; 

A  work-box  well  filled  in  the  centre  was  laid, 

And  on  it  a  ring,  for  which  Annie  had  prayed. 

A  soldier  in  uniform  stood  by  a  sled, 

"  With  bright  shining  runners,  and  all  painted  red." 

There  were  balls,  dogs,  and  horses,  books  pleasing  to  see, 

And  birds  of  all  colors  were  perched  in  the  tree  ; 

While  Santa  Clans,  laughing,  stood  up  in  the  top. 

As  if  getting  ready  more  presents  to  drop. 

And  as  the  fond  father  the  picture  surveyed, 

lie  thought  for  his  trouble  he  had  amply  been  paid. 


126        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  ho  said  to  liiinsolf,  as  ho  bruslicd  oflf  a  tear, 

"  I'm  happier  to-nio-ht  than  e\'er  before. 

What  care  I  if  bank  stock  falls  ten  per  cent,  more  ! 

Hereafter  I'll  make  it  a  rule,  I  believe, 

To  have  Santa  Glaus  visit  us  each  Christmas  Eve.'' 

So  thinking',  ho  gently  extinguished  tlio  light, 

And  tripped  down  the  stairs  to  retire  lor  the  night. 

As  soon  as  the  beams  of  the  bright  morning  sun 
Put  the  darkness  to  flight,  and  the  stars,  one  by  one, 
Four  little  blue  eyes  out  of  sleep  opened  wide, 
And  at  the  same  moment  the  presents  espied. 
Then  out  of  their  beds  they  sprang  with  a  bound, 
And  the  very  gifts  prayed  for  were  all  of  them  found. 
They  laughed  and  they  cried  in  their  innocent  glee. 
And  shouted  for  "  papa  "  to  come  quick  and  see 
What  presents  old  Santa  Glaus  brought  in  the  night 
(Just  the  things  that  they  wanted),  and  left  before  light. 

"  And  now,"  added  Annie,  in  a  voice  soft  and  low, 
"  You'll  believe  there's  a  Santa  Glaus,  papa,  I  know  ;  " 
While  dear  little  Willie  climbed  up  on  his  knee, 
Determined  no  secret  between  them  should  be, 
And  told,  in  soft  whispers,  how  Annie  had  said 
That  their  dear,  blessed  mamma,  so  long  ago  dead, 
Used  to  kneel  down  and  pray  by  the  side  of  her  chair, 
And  that  God  up  in  heaven  had  answered  her  prayer  ! 
"  Then  we  dot  up  and  payed  dust  as  well  as  we  tould. 
And  Dod  answered  our  payers  :  now  wasn't  He  dood  ? " 

"  I  should  say  that  He  was,  if  He  sont  you  all  these, 
Ami  knew  just  what  ])n!sents  my  childron  would  please. — 
Well,  well,  let  him  think  so,  the  dear  little  elf; 
'Twould  be  cruel  to  tell  hini  I  did  it  mvself." 

Pdind  father  !  who  caused  your  stern  heart  to  relent, 
And  the  hasty  word  spoken  so  soon  to  repent? 
'Twas  the  Being  who  bade  you  steal  softly  up  stairs, 
And  made  you  His  agent  to  answer  their  prayers. 


ONLY   A   SHAVING.  127 


ONLY  A   SnAYIXG. 

ACniLD,  as  from  school  he  was  bounding'  by, 
Near  the  wall  of  a  carpenter's  workshop  found 
A  lustrous  shaving  tiiat  lured  his  eye  ; 

And  this  treasure  he  timidly  picked  from  the  ground. 
The  thing  was  tender,  transparent,  light, 

Silk-soil,  odorous,  veined  so  fine 
With  rosy  waves  in  the  richest  white,  — 
Rare  damask  of  dainty  design  ! 

"With  awe  ho  touched  it,  and  turned  it  o'er  ; 
lie  had  never  seen  such  a  wonder  before  ; 
And,  gay  as  a  ringlet  of  golden  hair. 

It  had  floated  and  fallen  down  at  his  feet, 
AVhere,  fluttering  faint  in  each  breath  of  bright  air. 

It  lay  bathed  by  the  sunshine  sweet. 

The  boy  was  a  widow's  sireless  son  ; 

A  poor  dame,  pious  and  frugal,  she. 
Brothers  and  sisters  he  had  none  ; 

Playmates  and  playthings. few  :  and  ho 
Was  gentle,  and  dreamy,  and  pure,  as  one 

To  whom  most  pleasures  privations  be 
Ere  childhood's  playing  is  done. 

lie  would  like  to  have  taken  his  treasure  away  ; 

"  But  what,"  he  thought,  "  would  my  mother  say  ?" 

As  he  wistfully  eyed  the  windowed  wall. 

Whence  down  from  the  casement  of  some  ground  floor 
lie  thought  he  had  seen  the  fair  thing  fall. 

Then  he  knocked  at  the  half-shut  door. 

Near  it  the  sturdy  head-workman  stood  ; 
He  was  busily  planing  a  plank  of  wood  ; 
His  arms  were  up  to  the  elbows  bare. 

Brawny  and  brown  as  the  branch  of  an  oak. 


128  YOUNG  folks'  eeadings. 

And  heavy  with  muscle  and  dusky  with  hair, 

Down  over  his  forehead  and  face  in  a  soak 
(Fur  the  heat  of  his  Uibor  had  left  them  wet), 
Fell  mane-like,  matted,  and  black  as  jet, 

A  huge,  unkempt,  and  cumbrous  coil 
Of  stubborn  curls,  that  to  forehead  and  face 

Gave  a  savage  look  as  he  stuo^jed  at  his  toil. 
With  many  a  sullen  and  sooty  trace 

Of  the  glue-pot's  grease  and  the  work-shop's  soil, 
His  shirt, — last  Sunday,  tliough  coarse,  as  clean 

As  the  parson's  own,  —  tliis  Friday  noon 
Had  the  hue  of  the  shift  of  that  famous  queen 

Who  took  Granada,  but  not  so  soon 
As  her  oath  was  taken. 

This. man  had  seen 
The  gentle  child  at  the  door,  and  thought, 

"  'Tis  the  child  of  a  customer  come  with  a  message.  - 
"  Pray  wliat  has  my  little  master  brought  ? 

Or  what  may  he  want  ?  " 

With  no  cheerful  presage 
At  the  sight  of  his  grim-faced  questioner, 

A  few  faint  words  the  poor  child  stammers,  — 
Words  unheard  'mid  the  noisy  stir 

Of  tiie  hissing  saws  and  the  beating  hammers. 
Then,  abashed  and  blushing,  he  stands  deterred. 
With  a  fluttering  heart  like  a  frightened  bird, 
As  he  holds  the  shaving  out  in  his  liand, 

Timidly  gazing  at  the  strange  prize. 

The  wfjrkman  was  puzzled  to  understand 
This  gracious  visi<jn.     He  rubbed  "liis  eyes. 

Is  it  vairdy  such  visions  come  and  go 
In  flashes  across  life's  laboring  way  ? 

We  uplift  the  fort-head,  and  fain  would  know 
What  to  think  of  them.      Whence  come  they  ? 

VoT  they  burst  upon  us,  and  brighten  the  air 
For  a  moment  round  us,  and  melt  away. 

Lost  as  we  longingly  look  at  them. 


ONLY   A   SHAVING.  129 

"  Hi  ! 
SilencG,  all  of  jou  hands  down  there  !  " 

And  you  niig-Jit  have  heaid  the  liuiii  of  a  fly 
In  the  hush  of  the  suddenly  silenced  place. 
"  What  is  it,  my  child  ?  "      With  a  glowing  face, — 

"  Sir,"  said  the  child,  "  I  was  passing  by. 
And  I  saw  it  fall,  as  1  passed  below. 

From  the  window,  I  think.      So,  as  it  fell  near, 
I  have  picked  it  up,  and  I  bring  it  you  now." 

"  Bring  what  ?  "     "  This  beautiful  ringlet  here. 
Have  you  not  missed  it  ?     It  must,  I  know, 

Uave  been  hard  to  make.      I  have  taken  care. 
The  wind  was  blowing  it  round  the  wall. 

And  I  never  saw  anything  half  so  fair. 
But  it  is  not  broken,  I  think,  at  all." 

A  'prentice  brat,  wliose  cheek  was  puffed 

With  a  burst  of  laughter  ready  to  split. 
Turned  pale,  by  a  single  glance  rebuffed 

Of  tliat  workman's  eye  which  had  noticed  it. 
And  the  man  there,  shaggy  and  black  as  a  bear, 

Nor  any  the  sweeter  for  sweat  and  glue, 
Laid  a  horny  hand  on  the  child's  bright  hair, 

With  a  gentle  womanly  gesture  drew 
The  child  up  softly  on  to  his  knees, 

And  gazed  in  its  eyes  till  his  own  eyes  grew 
ITumid  and  red  at  the  rims  by  degrees. 

"  What  is  thine  age,  fair  child  ?  "  he  said, 

"  Five,  next  June."     "  And  it  pleases  tlioo, 
This  .   .   .   ringlet-thing  ?  "     The  small  bright  head 

Nodded.     He  put  the  child  from  his  knee, 
Swept  from  the  bench  a  whole  curly  clan 

Of  such  shavings,  and,  "  Hold  up  tii}'  pinafore. 
There,  they  are  tliine.     Run  away,  little  man  !  " 

"  Mine  ?  "     "  All  thine."     Theii  he  opened  the  door, 
Stooped,  and  .   .   .   was  it  a  sigh  or  a  prayer 

That,  as  into  the  sunshine  the  sweet  child  ran. 
Away  with  it  passed  in  its  golden  hair  ? 
9 


130  YOUNG   folks'   readings. 

Aiion,  when  the  liubbub  again  bcg-an 

or  liamnicr  and  saw  in  the  workshop  there, 

This  workman  paused  from  his  work,  and  stood 

Looking'  a  while  (as  though  vexed  by  the  view) 

At  the  shape  wliich  his  work  had  bequeathed  to  the  wood. 

Then  lie  turned  him  about,  and  abruptly  drew 
His  pipe  from  his  pocket,  and  stuffed  it,  and  lit. 

And  sat  down  on  the  bench  by  the  open  door, 
And  smoked,  and  smoked.     And  in  circles  blue 

As  the  faint  smoke  wandered  the  warm  air  o'er, 
Still  he  sat  dreamily  watching  it 

llisc  like  a  ghost  from  the  grimy  clay, 

And  hover,  and  linger,  and  fade  away. 

I  know  not  what  were  his  thoughts.     But  I  know 
There  be  shavings  that  down  from  a  man's  work  fall, 

"Wliich  the  man  himself,  as  they  drop  below, 
Ilaply  accounts  of  no  worth  at  all  ; 

And  1  know  there  be  children  that  prize  them  more 
Thau  the  man's  true  work,  be  its  worth  what  it  may. 

Owen  M^ebeditu. 


ROMANCE   AT   HOME. 

"\T"''ELL,  I  think  Til  finish  that  story  for  the  editor 
V  V  of  the  "  Dutchman."  Let  me  see  ;  where  did  I 
leave  off? — The  setting  sun  was  just  gilding  with  his 
last  ray — 

"  Ma,  I  want  some  "bread  and  molasses  ! " 

"  Yes,  dear."  —  gilding  with  his  last  ray  the  church 
spire  — 

"  Wife,  where's  my  Sunday  pants?" 

"  Under  the  bed,  dear."  —  the  church  spire  of  Inver- 
ness, when  a  — 


ROMANCE    AT    HOME.  131 

"  There's  nothing  nndcr  the  bed,  dear,  l)ut  your  lace 
cap  —  " 

"  Perhaps  they  arc  in  the  coal-hod  in  the  closet."  — 
when  a  horseman  was  seen  approaching  — 

"  Ma'am,  the  pertators  is  out ;  not  one  for  dinner —  " 

"  Take  some  turnips  !  "  —  approaching,  covered  with 
dust,  and  — 

"  Wife,  the  baby  has  swallowed  a  button  I " 

"  Reverse  him,  dear  1  .  Take  him  by  the  heels."  — 
and  waving  in  his  hand  a  banner,  on  which  was 
written  — 

"  Ma  !  I've  torn  my  pantaloons  !  " 

—  "  Liberty  or  death  ! "  The  inhabitants  rushed  en 
masse  — 

''  Wife  !  loill  you  leave  off  scribbling  ?  " 
"  Don't  be  disagreeable,  Smith  ;  I'm  just  getting  in- 
spired."—  to  the  public  square,  where  De  Begnis,  who 
had  been  secretly  — 

"  Butcher  wants  to  see  you,  ma'am." 

—  secretly  informed  of  the  traitors'  — 

"  Forgot  ivhich  you  said,  ma'am,  sausages  or  mutton 
chop." 

—  movements,  gave  orders  to  fire  !  Not  less  than 
twenty  —  "  My  gracious  !  Smith,  you  haven't  been 
reversing  that  child  all  this  time  !  He's  as  black  as 
your  coat !  And  that  boy  of  yours  has  torn  up  the 
first  sheet  of  my  manuscript.  Tliere  !  it's  no  use  for 
a  married  woman  to  cultivate  her  intellect.  Smith, 
hand  me  those  twins." 

Fasnt  Fern. 


132        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


HOW   HE    SAVED    ST.   MICHAEL'S. 

SO  you  I'cg-  for  a  story,  my  darling,  my  brown-eyod 
Leopold,  — 
And  you,  Alice,  with  face  like  morning,  and  curling  locks 

of  gold  ; 
Tlieu  come,  if  you  M'ill,  and  listen  —  stand  close  beside 

my  knee  — 
To  a  tale  of  the  southern  city  —  jjroud  Charleston  by  the 
sea. 

It  was  long  ago,  ray  children,  ere  ever  the  signal  gun 
That  blazed  above  Fort  Sumter,  had  wakened  the  North 

as  one  ; 
Long  ere  the  wondrous  pillar  of  battle-cloud  and  fire 
Ilad  marked  where  the  unchained  millions  marched  on  to 

their  hearts'  desire. 

On  roofs  and  the  glittering  turrets,  that  night  as  the  sun 

went  down. 
The  mellow  glow  of  the  twilight  shone  like  a  jewelled 

crown. 
And,  bathed  in  the  living  glory,  as  the  people  lifted  their 

eyes, 
They  saw  the  pride  of  the  city — the  spire  of  St.  Michael's 

rise 

High  over  the  lesser  steeples,  tipped  with  a  golden  ball, 
That  hung  like  a  radiant  planet  caught  in  its  earthward 

fall  — 
First  glimpse  of  home  to  the  sailor  who  made  the  harbor 

round. 
And  last  slow-fading  vision  dear  to  the  outward  bound. 

The  gently  gathering  shadows  shut  c)nt  the  waning  liglit ; 
Ti»e  children   jiiayed  at  their  bedsides,  as  you  will  pray 
to-night ; 


HOW    HE   SAVED   ST.    MICHAEL'S.  133 

The  iioisc  of  buyer  and  seller  from  the  busy  mart  was 
gone, 
'  And  in  dreams  of  a  peaceful  morrow  the  city  slumbered  on. 

But  another  light  than  sunrise  aroused  the  sleeping  street, 

For  a  cry  was  heard  at  midnight,  and  the  rush  of  tram- 
pling feet ; 

Men  stared  in  each  other's  faces  through  mingled  fire  and 
smoke. 

While  the  frantic  bells  went  clashing  clamorous  stroke  on 
stroke  ! 

By  the  glare  of  her  blazing  roof-tree  the  houseless  mother 
lied, 

AVith  the  babe  she  pressed  to  her  bosom  shrieking  in 
nameless  dread  ; 

While  the  fire-king's  wild  battalions  scaled  wall  and  cap- 
stone iiigh, 

And  planted  tiieir  fiaring  banners  against  an  inky -sky. 

From  the  death  that  raged  behind  them,  and  the  crash  of 

ruin  loud, 
To  the  great  square  of  the  city  were  driven  the  surging 

crowd. 
Where  yet,  firm  iu  all  the  tumult,  unscathed  by  the  fiery 

flood, 
With  its  heavenward-pointing  finger  the  churclx  of  St. 

Michael  stood. 

But  e'en  as  they  gazed  upon  it,  there  rose  a  sudden  wail, 
A  cry  of  horror  blended  with  the  roaring  of  the  gale. 
On  whose   scorching   Avings,  up-driven,  a  single    IJaming 

brand. 
Aloft  on  the  towering  steeple,  clung  like  a  bloody  hand. 

"  Will  it  fade  ?  "     The  whisper  trembled  from  a  tliousuml 

whitening  lips,  — 
Far  out  on  the  lurid  harbor  they  watched  it  from  the 

ships  — 


134:  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

A  baleful  gloam  that  biiglitor  and  ever  brighter  shone, 
Like  a  Uickoring,  trembling-  will-o'-wisp  to  a  steady  beacon 
grown. 

"  Uncounted  gold  shall  be  given  to  the  man  whose  brave 
right  hand, 

For  the  love  of  the  perilled  city,  plucks  down  yon  burn- 
ing brand  !  " 

So  cried  the  mayor  of  Charleston  that  all  the  people  heard, 

But  they  looked  each  one  at  his  fellow,  no  man  spoke  a 
word. 

Who  is  it  leans  from  the  belfry,  with  face  upturned  to  the 
sky  ? 

Clings  to  a  column,  and  measures  the  dizzy  spire  with  his 
eye  ? 

Will  he  dare  it,  the  hero  undaunted,  that  terrible,  sicken- 
ing height  ? 

Or  will  the  hot  blood  of  his  courage  freeze  in  his  veins  at 
the  sight  ? 

But  see  !  he  has  stepped  on  the  railing,  he  climbs  with 
his  feet  and  his  hands  ! 

And  firm  on  a  narrow  projection,  with  the  belfry  beneath 
him,  he  stands  ! 

Now  once,  and  once  only,  they  cheer  him  —  a  single, 
tempestuous  breath  — 

And  there  falls  on  the  multitude  gazing  a  hush-like  still- 
ness of  death. 

Slow,  steadily  mounting,  unheeding  aught  save  the  goal 

of  the  fire, 
Still  higher  and  higher,  an  atom,  ho  moves  on  the  face  of 

the  spire. 
lie  stops  !     Will  he  fall  ?     Lo  !  for  answer,  a  gleam  like 

a  metc(;r's  track, 
And,  hurled  on  the  stones  of  tlio  pavement,  the  red  brand 

lies  shattered  and  black  ! 


HOW   HE   SAVED   ST.    MICHAEL'S.  135 

Once  more  the  shouts  of  the  people  have  rent  the  quiver- 


ing air 


At  tlic  cliurch  door  mayor  and  council  wait  with  their  feet 

on  the  stair  ; 
And  the  eager  throng  behind  them  press  for  a  touch  of 

his  hand  — 
The  unknown  savior  whose  daring  could  compass  a  deed 

BO  grand. 

But  why  does  a  sudden  tremor  seize  on  them  while  they 

gaze  ? 
And  what  mcancth  that  stifled  murmur  of  wonder  and 

amaze  ? 
He  stood  in  the  gate  of  the  temple  he  had  perilled  his  life 

to  save, 
And  the  face  of  the  hero,  my  children,  was  the  sable  face 

of  a  slave  ! 

With  folded  arms  he  was  speaking,  in  tones  that  were 

clear,  not  loud, 
And  his  eyes  ablaze  in  their  sockets  burnt  into  the  eyes 

of  the  crowd  : 
"  You  may  keep  your  gold  —  I  scorn  it !    But  answer  me, 

ye  who  can, 
If  the  deed  I  have  done  before  you  be  not  the  deed  of 

a  man  ?  " 

He  stepped  but  a  short  space  backward,  and  from  all  the 

women  and  men 
There  were  only  sobs  for  au  answer,  and  the  mayor  called 

for  a  pen. 
And  the  great  seal  of  the  city,  that  he  might  read  who 

ran  ;  — 
And  the  slave  who  saved  St.  Michael's  went  out  from  the 

door,  —  a  Max. 


13G  YOUNG  FOLKS'  READINGS. 


SNYDER'S   NOSE. 

SNYDER  kept  a  beer  saloon,  some  years  ago,  "  over 
the  Rhine."  Snyder  was  a  ponderous  Teuton,  of 
very  irascible  temper,  —  "sudden  and  quick  in  quar- 
rel," —  get  mad  in  a  minute.  Nevertheless  his  saloon 
was  a  great  resort  for  "  the  boys,"  —  partly  because 
of  the  excellence  of  his  beer,  and  partly  because  thoy 
liked  to  chafe  "  old  Snyder,"  as  they  called  him  ;  for, 
although  his  bark  was  terrific,  experience  had  taught 
them  that  he  wouldn't  bite. 

One  day  Snyder  was  missing  ;  and  it  was  explained 
by  his  "  frau,"  that  he  had  "  gone  out  fishing  mit  der 
poys."  The  next  day  one  of  the  boys,  who  was  par- 
ticularly fond  of  "  roasting  "  old  Snyder,  dropped  in 
to  get  a  glass  of  beer,  and  discovered  Snyder's  nose, 
which  was  a  big  one  at  any  time,  swollen  and  blistered 
by  the  sun,  until  it  looked  like  a  dead-ripe  tomato. 

"  Why,  Snyder,  what's  the  matter  with  your  nose  ?  " 
said  the  caller. 

"  I  peen  out  fishing  mit  der  poys,"  replied  Snyder, 
laying  his  finger  tenderly  against  his  proboscis  ;  "  the 
sun  it  peso  hot  like  ash  never  vas,  und  I  purns  my 
nose.     Nice  nose  —  don't  it?" 

And  Snyder  viewed  it  with  a  look  of  comical  sad- 
ness in  the  little  mirror  back  of  his  bar.  It  entered 
at  once  into  the  head  of  the  mischievous  fellow  in 
front  of  the  bar  to  play  a  joke  upon  Snyder;  so  he 
went  out  and  collected  lialf  a  dozen  of  his  comrades, 
with  whom  he  arranged  that  they  should  drop  in  at 
the  saloon  one  after  another,  and  ask  Snyder,  "  What's 


Snyder's  nose.  137 

the  matter  with  that  nose  ?  "  to  see  how  long  he  would 
stand  it.  The  man  who  put  up  the  job  went  in  first 
Avith  a  companion,  and  seating  themselves  at  a  tal)lo, 
called  for  beer.  Snyder  brought  it  to  them  ;  and  the 
new-comer  exclaimed,  as  he  saw  him,  — 

"  Snvder,  wliat's  the  matter  with  your  nose  ?  " 

"  I  yust  dell  your  frient  here  I  pecn  out  fishin'  mit 
der  poys,  unt  de  sun  he  purnt  'em  —  zwi  lager  —  den 
cents  —  all  right." 

Another  boy  rushes  in. 

"  Ilalloo,  boys,  you're  ahead  of  me  this  time  ;  s'pose 
I'm  in,  though.  Here,  Snyder,  bring  me  a  glass  of 
lager  and  a  pret "  —  (appears  to  catch  a  sudden 
glimpse  of  Snyder's  nose,  looks  wonderingly  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  bursts  out  laughing)  —  "  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Why,  Snyder,  —  ha!  ha!  —  what's  the  matter  with 
that  nose  ?  " 

Snyder,  of  course,  can't  see  any  fun  in  having  a 
burnt  nose,  or  having  it  laughed  at ;  and  he  says,  in  a 
tone  sternly  emphatic,  — 

"  I  peen  out  fishin'  mit  der  poys,  unt  de  sun  it  yust 
ash  hot  ash  blazes,  unt  I  purnt  my  nose  ;  dat  ish  all 
right." 

Another  tormentor  comes  in,  and  insists  on  "  setting 
'em  up  "  for  the  whole  house. 

"  Snyder,"  says  he,  '^  fill  up  the  boys'  glasses,  and 
take  a  drink  yourso —  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  ha  !  lia  !  ha  ! 
Snyder,  wha  —  ha  !  ha  !  —  what's  the  matter  with  that 

nose  ?  " 

Snyder's  brow  darkens  with  wrath  by  this  time,  and 
his  voice  grows  deeper  and  sterner,  — 

"  I  peen  out  fishin'  mit  der  poys  on  the  Lecdle  Miami. 
De  sun  pese  hot  like  ash  —  vel,  I  purn  my  pugle.    Now, 


138  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

that  is  more  vot  I  don't  got  to  say.  Vot  gind  o'  pose- 
ness?  Dat  isli  all  riglit;  I  purn  my  own  nose  — 
don't  it?" 

"  Burn  your  nose,  —  burn  all  tlie  hair  off  your  head, 
for  what  I  care  ;  you  needn't  get  mad  about  it." 

It  was  evident  that  Snyder  wouldn't  stand  more 
than  one  more  tweak  at  that  nose  ;  for  he  was  tramp- 
ing about  behind  his  bar,  and  growling  like  an  exas- 
perated old  bear  in  his  cage.  Another  one  of  his  tor- 
mentors walks  in.     Some  one  sings  out  to  him,  — 

"  Have  a  glass  of  beer,  Billy  ?  " 

"  Don't  care  about  an}'-  beer,"  says  Billy  ;  "  but,  Sny- 
der, you  may  give  me  one  of  your  best  ciga —  Ha-a-a  ! 
ha !  iia  !  ha  !  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  he  !  he  !  he  !  ah-h-h-ha  !  ha  ! 
ha  1  ha  !  Wliy  —  why  —  Snyder  —  who  —  who  —  ha- 
ha  !  ha  !  what's  the  matter  with  that  nose  ?  " 

Snyder  was  absolutely  fearful  to  bcliold  by  this 
time  ;  his  face  was  purple  Avith  rage,  all  except  his 
nose,  which  glowed  like  a  ball  of  fire.  Leaning  his 
ponderous  figure  far  over  the  bar,  and  raising  his  arm 
aloft  to  emphasize  his  words  with  it,  he  fairly  roared, — 

"  I  peen  out  fisliin'  mit  ter  poys.  The  sun  it  pese 
hot  like  ash  never  vas.  I  purnt  my  nose.  Now  you 
no  like  dose  nose,  you  yust  take  dose  nose  unt  wr-wr- 
wr-wring  your  mean  American  finger  mit  'em  !  That's 
the  kind  of  man  vot  I  am ! " 

"  I'"AT  CoNTKIBUTOlt." 


THE   HIGH   TIDE.  139 


THE  HIGH  TIDE. 

MOTHER,  dear,  what  is  the  water  saying  ? 
Mother,  dear,  why  does  the  wild  sea  roar  ?  " 
Cry  tlie  children,  on  the  white  sand  playing. 
On  the  white  sand,  half  a  mile  from  shore. 
"  Little  ones,  I  fear  a  storm  is  growing-. 

Come  away  !     0,  let  us  hasten  home  ! " 
Calls  the  mother  ;  and  the  wind  i.s  blowing. 
Flashing  up  a  million  eyes  of  foam. 

"  Mother,  see  our  footprints  as  we  follow  ! 

Mother,  dear,  what  crawls  along  before  ?  " 
Creeping  round  and  round,  tlirough  creek  and  hollow. 

Runs  the  tide  between  them  and  the  shore. 
"  Hasten  !  "  cries  the  mother,  forward  fljMng. 

"  Hasten,  or  we  perish  ;   'tis  the  tide  !  " 
Led  by  her,  affrighted  now  and  crying. 

Fly  the  children,  barefoot,  at  her  side. 

"  Mother,  dear,  the  sea  is  coming  after  ! 

Mother,  'tis  between  us  and  the  land." 
Looking  back,  they  see  the  waves  with  laughter 

Wash  their  little  shoes  from  off  the  sand. 
"Quicker!''  screams  the  mother,  "quicker!  quicker!" 

Fast  they  fl}'  before  the  sullen  sound. 
Step  by  step  the  mother's  heart  grows  sicker  ; 

Inch  by  inch  the  sea  creeps  round  and  round. 

"  Mother,  in  the  water  we  are  wading  ; 

Mother,  it  grows  deeper  as  we  go  !  " 
"  Hasten,  children,  hasten  !  —  day  is  fading  — 

Higher  creeps  the  tide  so  black  and  slow." 
Nay,  but  at  each  step  the  waves  grow  deeper  ; 

"  Turn  this  way  !  "  but  there  'tis  deeper  still  — 
Still  the  sea  breathes  like  a  drunken  sleeper  — 

Still  the  foam  crawls,  and  the. wind  blows  shrill. 


140  YOUXG  folks'  readings. 

"  Mother,  there  is  land,  all  green  and  dry  land, 

Grass  upon  it  growing,  and  a  tree  !  " 
A  promontory  turned  into  an  island, 

Upsprings  there  in  the  ever-rising  sea. 
"  ^Mother,  'tis  so  deep,  and  we  are  dripping  ! 

Mother,  we  are  sinking  !     Haste,  0,  haste  ! " 
In  lier  arms  uplilting  them,  and  gripping, 

On  she  plunges,  wading  to  the  waist. 

"  Mother,  set  us  down  among  the  grasses  ! 

Mother,  we  are  hungry  !  "  they  now  cry  ; 
"Watching  the  bright  water  as  it  passes. 

There  they  sit,  between  the  sea  and  sky. 
Higher  crawls  the  sea  with  deep  intoning, 

Passing  every  flood-mark  far  or  near  — 
"  'Tis  the  high  tide  ! "  cries  the  mother,  moaning, 

"  Coming  only  once  in  many  a  year  ! " 

nigher  !  higher  1  lapping  round  the  island 

Flows  the  water  with  a  sound  forlorn. 
Those  arc  flowers  'tis  snatcliing  from  the  dry  land  — 

Pale  primroses  sweet  and  newly  born. 
Smaller  grows  the  isle  where  they  sit  sobbing. 

Darker  grows  the  day  on  every  side  — 
Wliiter  grows  the  mother,  with  heart  throbbing 

Madly,  as  she  marks  the  fatal  tide. 

"  Children,  cling  around  me  1  hold  me  faster  ! 

Kiss  me  !  (Uxl  is  going  to  take  all  three  I 
Say  the  prayer  I  tauglit  you  —  He  is  JNIaster  1 

lie  is  Lord,  and  in  His  hands  lie  we  !  " 
Flowers  the  tide  is  snatching  while  it  calls  so, 

Flf)\vers  its  lean  hands  never  snatclied  before  ; 
Will  it  snatch  tiiese  liuman  flowers  also  ? 

Where  they  cling,  sad  creatures  of  the  shore  ? 

Nay,  for  o'er  the  tide  a  boat  is  stealing  — 

On  tlieir  naraus  a  man's  strong  voice  doth  cry. 


THE   MOTHERLESS   TURKEYS.  141 

"  God  bo  praised  !  "  tlio  mother  cricth,  kneeling, 
"  He  hath  heard  our  prayer,  and  help  is  nigh." 

"  Father  ! "  cry  the  children  ;   "  this  way,  father  ! 
Here  we  are  !  "  aloud  cry  girl  and  boy. 

Comes  the  boat  —  the  children  round  it  gather  — 
But  the  mother  smiles  and  faints  for  jo3% 


THE  MOTHERLESS   TURKEYS. 

THE  white  turkey  was  dead  !     The  white  turkey  was 
dead  ! 

How  the  news  through  the  barn-yard  went  flying  I 
Of  a  mother  bereft,  four  small  turkeys  were  left, 

And  their  case  for  assistance  was  crying. 
E'en  the  peacock  respectfully  folded  his  tail, 

As  a  suitable  symbol  of  sorrow. 
And  his  plainer  vviib  said,  "  Now  the  old  bird  is  dead, 

Who  will  tend  her  poor  chicks  on  the  morrow  ? 
And  when  evening  around  them  comes  dreary  and  chill, 

AVho  above  them  will  watchfully  hover  ?  " 
"  Two,  each  night,  /  will  tuck   'neath  my  wings,"  said 
the  duck, 

"  Though  I've  eight  of  my  own  I  must  cover  !  " 
"  I  have  so  much  to  do  I     For  the  bugs  and  the  worms. 

In  the  garden,  'tis  tiresome  pickin'  ; 
I  have  nothing  to  spare,  —  for  my  own  I  must  care," 

Said  the  hen  with  one  chicken. 

"  IIow  I  wish,"  said  the  goose,  "  I  could  be  of  some  use, 

For  my  heart  is  with  love  ovei'-brimming  ; 
The  next  morning  that's  line,  they  shall  go  with  my  nine. 

Little  yellow-backed  goslings,  out  swimming  1  " 
"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  the  old  Dorking  put  in, 

"  And  for  help  they  may  call  upon  me,  too  ; 
Though  I've  ten  of  my  own  that  arc  only  half  grown, 

And  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  see  to. 


.14:2  YOUNG  folks'  eeadings. 

But  those  poor  little  things,  they  arc  all  heads  and  wings, 
And  their  bones  through  their  feathers  are  stickiu'  !  ^' 

"  Very  hard  it  may  be,  but,  0,  dou't  come  to  me  1  " 
Said  the  heu  with  one  chicken. 

"  Half  my  care,  I  suppose,  there  is  nobody  knows,  — 

I'm  the  most  overburdened  of  motliers  ! 
They  uiust  learn,   little  elves,  how  to  scratch  for  them- 
selves. 

And  not  seek  to  depend  upon  others." 
She  went  by  with  a  cluck,  and  the  goose  to  the  duck 

E.xelaimed,  in  surprise,  "  Well,  1  never  !  " 
Saiil  the  duck,  "  1  declare,  those  who  have  the  least  care, 

You  will  find,  are  complaining  forever  ! 
And  when  all  things  appear  to  look  threatening  and  drear, 

And  when  troubles  your  pathway  are  thick  in, 
For  some  aid  in  your  woe,  0,  beware  how  you  go 

To  a  hen  with  one  chicken  1  " 

Marian  Douglass. 


0 


A  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW. 

UOTII  the  boy,  "  I'll  climb  that  tree, 

And  bring  down  a  nest,  I  know." 
'Quoth  tli(.'  girl,  "  I  will  not  see 

Little  birds  defrauded  so. 
Cowardly  their  nests  to  take. 
And  their  little  hearts  to  break. 

And  their  little  eggs  to  steal. 
Leave  them  happy  for  my  sake,  —  . 

Surely  little  birds  can  feel  1 " 

Quoth  the  boy,  "  My  senses  whirl  ; 

Until  now  I  never  heard 
Of  the  wisdom  of  a  girl. 

Or  the  feelings  of  a  bird  I 
Pi'ctty  Mrs.  Solomon, 


THE  FOX   IN  THE   WELL.  143 

Tell  rac  what  you  reckon  on 

When  you  prate  in  such  a  strain  ; 

If  I  wring  their  necks  anon, 

Certainly  they  might  feel  —  pain  !  " 

Quoth  the  girl,  "  I  watch  them  talk, 

Making  love  and  making  fun. 
In  the  pretty  ash-tree  walk, 

When  iny  daily  task  is  done. 
In  their  little  eyes  I  find 
They  are  very  fond  and  kind. 

Every  change  of  song  or  voice. 
Plainly  proveth  to  my  mind, 

They  can  suller  and  rejoice." 

And  the  little  robin-bird 

(Nice  brown  back  and  crimson  breast) 
All  the  conversation  heard, 

Sitting  trenibling  in  his  nest. 
"  What  a  world,"  he  cried,  "  of  bliss. 
Full  of  birds  and  girls,  were  this  ! 

Blithe  we'd  answer  to  their  call ; 
But  a  great  mistake  it  is 

Boys  were  ever  made  at  all." 


THE   FOX   IN   THE   WELL. 

SIR  REYNARD  once,  as  I've  heard  tell. 
Had  fallen  into  a  farmer's  well. 
When  wolf,  his  cousin,  passing  by. 
Heard  from  the  depths  his  dismal  cry. 

Over  the  wheel  a  well-chain  hung, 
From  which  two  empty  buckets  swung  ; 
At  one,  drawn  up  beside  the  brink, 
The  fox  had  paused,  no  doubt,  to  drink. 


141  YOUNG   FOLKS'    READINGS. 

And  putting  in  his  head,  had  tipped 
Tlie  bucket ;  fox  and  bucket  slipped, 
And,  hampered  by  the  ball,  he  fell, 
As  1  have  said,  into  the  well. 
As  down  the  laden  bucket  went, 
The  other  made  its  swift  ascent. 

ilis  cousin,  wolf,  beguiled  to  stop. 
Listened  astonished  at  the  top  ; 
Looked  down,  and,  by  the  uncertain  light, 
Saw  Reynard  in  a  curious  plight  — 
There  in  his  bucket  at  the  bottom, 
Calling  as  if  the  houads  had  got  him  1 

"  What  do  you  there  ?  "  his  cousin  cried. 
"  Dear  cousin  wolf,"  the  fox  replied, 
"  In  coming  to  the  well  to  draw 
Some  water,  what  d'ye  think  I  saw  ? 
It  glimmered  bright  and  still  below  ; 
You've  seen  it ;  you  did  not  know 
It  was  a  treasure  !     Now,  behold  ! 
I've  got  my  bucket  filled  with  gold, 
Enough  to  buy  ourselves  and  wives 
Poultry  to  last  us  all  our  lives  1 " 

The  wolf  made  answer  with  a  grin  : 
"  Dear  me  !  I  thought  you  tumbled  in  ! 
What  then  is  all  this  noise  about  ?  " 
"  Because  I  could  not  draw  it  out ; 
I  called  to  you,"  the  fox  replied  : 
"  l-'irst  lielp  me  ;  then  we  will  divide." 

"  IIow  ?  "     "  Get  into  the  bucket  there." 
The  wolf,  too  eager  for  a  share, 
Did  not  one  mtmient  pause  to  think"; 
There  hung  the  bucket  by  the  brink, 
And  in  he  stepped.     As  down  he  went. 
The  cunning  fox  made  his  ascent, 


A   LITTLE   child's   TIUALS.  115 

Being  tlic  liohtor  of  the  two. 

"  That's  rig-lit  I  ha  !  ha  I  how  well  you  do  ! 

How  glad  I  am  you  came  to  help  ! " 

Wolf  struck  the  water  with  a  yelp  ; 

The  fox  leaped  out.     "  Dear  wolf!  "  said  he, 

"  You've  been  so  very  kind  to  me, 

I'll  leave  the  treasure  all  to  you  ; 

I  hope  'twill  do  j'^ou  good  !     Adieu  ! 

There  comes  the  farmer."     Off  he  shot, 

And  disappeared  across  the  lot, 

Leaving  the  wolf  to  meditate 

Upon  his  miserable  fate  — - 

To  flattering-  craft  a  victim  made, 

By  his  own  greediness  betrayed  ! 

J.  T.  Tkowdridge. 


A   LITTLE   CHILD'S  TRIALS. 

MY  father  had  a  farm-hand  who  took  a  great  fancy 
to  me,  and  when  I  was  not  more  than  two  years 
old,  or,  at  the  most,  two  and  a  lialf,  he  made  me  a  kit- 
ten-yoke, and  gave  me  a  pair  of  the  prettiest  kittens 
I  ever  saw.  How  long  I  phiyed  with  them  I  do  not 
remember,  nor  do  I  know  what  became  of  them ;  but 
they  disappeared  quite  suddenly  one  day,  and  I  have 
heard  nothing  of  them  since. 

Undoubtedly  they  went  the  way  of  all  kittens,  after 
they  begin  to  overstock  the  market ;  but  to  fne  it  was 
a  great  mystery  :  and  if  the  poor  little  things  bad  been 
caught  up  wliile  I  was  playing  wnth  them,  and  whisked 
off  out  of  sight  by  hawk  or  buzzard,  or  if  they  had  van- 
ished into  thin  air  while  T  was  watching  them,  yoke 
and  all,  I  should  not  have  been  more  puzzled  nor  as- 
tonished. 

10 


146  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Only  one  other  case  of  perplexity  do  I  remember 
that  will  compare  with  this  ;  and  I  must  acknowledge 
that,  for  a  long  while,  I  had  no  fliith  in  the  explana- 
tions that  were  offered  me.  There  came  up,  one  bright 
Fummer  afternoon,  towards  nightfall,  a  prodigious  hail- 
storm —  the  first  I  had  ever  seen,  or  heard  of  Being 
always  inquisitive,  and  much  in  earnest,  I  gathered  a 
wooden  dish  full  of  the  little  white  beads,  before  they 
missed  me  from  the  porch,  and  hid  it  away  where  no- 
body would  be  likely  to  stumble  over  it. 

But,  alas  !  when  I  went  for  my  little  treasure,  in- 
stead of  the  white  beads,  or  seed-pearl,  I  had  gathered 
by  handfuls,  I  found  notliing  but  a  little  dirty  water. 

It  was  in  vain  they  told  me  that  my  hailstones  had 
melted  ;  I  did  not  believe  them,  and  I  could  not.  And 
as  I  grew  older,  and  came  to  hear  about  hailstones 
and  coals  of  fire  mingled  together,  it  seemed  still 
more  unlikely  ;  tor  I  had  seen  nothing  that  resembled 
coals  of  fire,  and  if  there  was  any  lightning,  I  do  not 
remember  it. 

To  me  it  was  like  the  manna  gathered  by  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  without  permission — a  little  round  thing 
that  wouldn't  keep. 

Trivial  though  such  incidents  may  be  in  theniselves, 
yet,  if  they  are  remembered  to  the  last  by  the  aged 
man,  they  must  have  had  their  influence  upon  the 
child  —  at  an  age,  too,  when  the  lightest  touch  may 
outlast  both  engraving  and  sculpture. 

If  I  may  trust  my  memory,  the  loss  of  my  sled,  the 
loss  of  my  kitten-yoke  and  little  steers,  and  the  loss 
of  my  seed-pearl,  were  the  sorest  of  my  trials  up  to 
the  age  of  twelve.  j^,,,^,  ^^^i,. 


CURFEW   MUST   NOT    RING   TO-NIGHT.  147 


CURFEW  MUST  NOT  RING  TO-NIGHT. 

ENGLAND'S  sun  was  sotting 
O'er  tlic  liills  so  far  away, 
Filled  tlio  land  with  misty  beauty 

At  the  close  of  one  sad  day  : 
And  the  last  rays  kissed  the  forehead 

Of  a  man  and  maiden  fair  ;  " 
lie  with  step  so  slow  and  weary, 

She  with  sunny,  floating  hair  ; 
He  with  bowed  head,  sad  and  thoughtful, 

She  with  lips  so  cold  and  white. 
Struggling  to  keep  back  the  murmur, 

"  Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night." 

"Sexton,"  Bessie's  white  lips  faltered, 

Pointing  to  the  prison  old. 
With  its  walls  so  tall  and  gloomy, 

Walls  so  dark,  and  damp,  and  cold,  — 
"  I've  a  lover  in  that  prison. 

Doomed  this  very  night  to  die 
At  the  ringing  of  the  Curfew, 

And  no  earthly  help  is  nigh  : 
Cromwell  will  not  come  till  sunset," 

And  her  face  grew  strangely  white, 
As  she  spoke  in  husk}'  whispers,  — 

"  Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night." 

"  Bessie,"  calmly  spoke  the  sexton,  — 

Every  word  pierced  her  young  heart 
Like  a  thousand  gleaming  arrows. 

Like  a  deadly  poisoned  dart,  — 
"  Long,  long  years  I've  rung  the  Curfew 

From  that  gloomy  shadowed  tower  ; 
Every  evening,  just  at  sunset, 

It  has  told  the  twilight  hour. 
I  have  done  my  duty  ever, 

Tried  to  do  it  just  and  right ; 


148  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Now  I'm  old,  I  will  not  miss  it, 
Girl,  the  Curfew  rings  to-night 


jj 


Wild  her  eyes,  and  pale  her  features, 

Stern  and  wliite  her  thoughtful  brow. 
And  within  her  heart's  deep  centre 

Bessie  made  a  solemn  vow  ; 
She  had  listened  while  the  judges 

Read,  without  a  tear  or  sigh  : 
"  At  the  ringing  of  the  Curfew  — 

Basil  Underwood  must  die." 
And  her  breath  came  fast  and  faster. 

And  her  eyes  grew  large  and  bright  — 
One  low  murmur,  scarcely  spoken, 

"  Curfew  must  not  ring  to-night !" 

She  with  light  step  bounded  forward. 

Sprung  within  tlie  old  cluirch-door, 
Left  the  old  man  coming  slowly 

Paths  he'd  trod  so  oft  before  ; 
Not  one  moment  paused  the  maiden, 

But,  with  cheek  and  brow  aglow, 
Staggered  up  the  gloomy  tower. 

Where  tlie  bell  swung  to  and  fro  ; 
Then  she  climbed  the  slimy  ladder. 

Dark,  without  one  ray  of  light, 
Upward  still,  her  pale  lips  saying, 

"  Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night," 

She  has  reached  the  topmost  ladder. 

O'er  her  hangs  the  great  dark  bell, 
And  the  awful  gloom  beneath  her. 

Like  the  pathw/iy  down  to  hell ! 
See,  tlie  ponderous  tongue  is  swinging, 

'Tis  tlie  hour  of  Curfew  now  — 
And  the  sight  has  chilled  her  bosom. 

Stopped  her  breath  and  paled  her  brow. 
Shall  she  let  it  ring  ?     No,  never. 

Her  eyes  flash  with  sudden  light, 
And  she  springs  and  grasps  it  linnly  — 

"  Curfew  ahall  not  ring  to-night !  " 


CURFEW   MUST    NOT    RING    TO-NIGHT.  149 

Out  she  swung,  far  out  ;  —  the  city 

Seemed  a  tiny  speck  below, 
There,  'twixt  heaven  and  earth  suspended, 

As  the  bell  swung  to  and  fro  ; 
And  the  half-deaf  sexton  rhigiiig-, 

(Years  he  had  not  heard  the  bell,) 
And  he  thought  the  twilight  Curfew 

Rung  young  Basil's  funeral  knell  ; 
Still  the  maiden,  clinging  firmly, 

Cheek  and  brow  so  pale  and  white, 
Stilled  her  frightened  heart's  wild  beating  — 

"  Curfew  shall  not  Hng  to-night  1  " 

It  was  o'er  —  the  bell  ceased  swaying. 

And  the  maiden  stepped  once  more 
Firmly  on  the  damp  old  ladder, 

AVhere  for  hundred  years  before 
Human  foot  had  not  been  planted  : 

And  what  she  this  night  had  done 
Should  be  told  long  ages  after  — 

As  the  rays  of  setting  sun 
Light  the  sky  with  mellow  beauty, 

Aged  sires  with  heads  of  white 
Tell  the  children  why  the  Curfew 

Did  not  ring  that  one  sad  night. 

O'er  the  distant  hills  came  Cromwell ; 

Bessie  saw  him,  and  her  brow, 
Lately  white  with  sickening  horror, 

Glows  with  sudden  beauty  now. 
At  his  feet  she  told  the  story. 

Showed  her  hands  all  bruised  and  torn  ; 
And  her  sweet  young  lace  so  haggard. 

With  a  look  so  sad  and  worn, 
Touched  his  heart  with  sudden  pity, 

Lit  his  ej'es  with  misty  light. 
"  Go,  your  lover  lives,"  cried  Cromwell ; 

"  Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night  1 " 


150        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


MY   FATHER'S   HALF-BUSHEL. 

MY  Aither's  half-bushel  comes  oft  to  my  mind, 
And  wakens  deep  feelings  of  various  sorts  ; 
'Twas  an  honest  half-bushel  —  a  noble  half-bushel, 
It  held  a  half-bushel  of  thirty-two  quarts  ! 

When  I  think  of  that  bushel  —  my  father's  half-bushel, 
Tliat  dear  old  half-busliel,  so  honest  and  true  ! 

Tlien  look  at  the  busliels,  our  city  half-bushels, 
Little  dandy  halt-bushels,  it  makes  one  feel  blue  1 

0,  my  father's  half-bushel  —  that  country  half-bushel, 
It's  like,  or  my  father's  —  0,  when  shall  I  see  ? 

'Twas  a  blessed  half-bushel,  and  he  is  a  blest  man, 

For  he  Glled  his  half-bushel,  and  something'  threw  free ! 

Alas  !   Fve  long  searched  for  their  likeness  in  vain  ! 
Scarce  a  man,  or  hall-bushel,  but  what  gives  me  pain. 
So  unlike  to  my  father's  their  measures,  and  measure, 
My  life  is  nigh  robbed  of  all  peace  and  all  pleasure  1 

Yet  all  the  half-bushels,  if  mean,  are  not  small  ; 
Fm  vexed  with  the  great  ones  most,  after  all. 
0,  mark  out  that  ash-man's  next  time  he  shall  call, 
'Tis  a  monstrous  half-bushel  —  holds  quarts  sixty-four  : 
Do  send  the  base  rascal  away  from  your  door  ! 

'Tis  a  fact  I  am  stating,  no  slanders  I  utter, 
]hit  who  can  forb'-ar,  when  cheated,  to  mutter? 
In  Now  York,  a  barrel  (I  pray  you,  don't  laugh) 
Won't  hold  HO  much  ashes  as  'taters  by  half! 

Zounds  !  what  are  the  lawyers,  and  what  are  the  laws, 
liut  bugbears  and  phantoms,  mere  feathers  or  straws  ? 
Unless  our  half-bushels  are  all  made  as  one, 
Like  father's  hall-bushel,  1  say  we're  undone. 


THE   FRUITS   OP   LIBERTY.  151 


THE  FRUITS  OF   LIBERTY. 

ARIOSTO  tells  a  pretty  story  of  a  fairy,  who,  by 
some  mysterious  law  of  her  nature,  was  con- 
demned to  appear  at  certain  seasons  in  the  form  of 
a  foul  and  poisonous  snake.  Those  who  injured  her 
during  the  period  of  her  disguise  were  forever  ex- 
cluded from  participation  in  the  blessings  which  she 
bestowed.  But  to  those  who,  in  spite  of  her  loath- 
some aspect,  pitied  and  protected  her,  she  afterwards 
revealed  herself  in  the  beautiful  and  celestial  form 
which  was  natural  to  her,  accompanied  their  steps, 
granted  all  their  wishes,  filled  their  houses  with 
wealth,  made  them  happy  in  love,  and  victorious  in 
war. 

Such  a  spirit  is  Liberty.  At  times  she  takes  the 
form  of  a  hateful  reptile.  She  grovels,  she  hisses,  she 
stings.  But  woe  to  those  who  in  disgust  shall  ven- 
ture to  crush  her  !  And  happy  are  those  who,  having 
dared  to  receive  her  in  her  degraded  and  frightful 
shape,  shall  at  length  be  rewarded  by  her  in  the  time 
of  her  beauty  and  glory  ! 

There  is  only  one  cure  for  the  evils  wliich  newly 
acquired  freedom  produces,  and  that  cure  is  freedom. 
When  a  prisoner  first  leaves  his  cell  he  cannot  bear 
the  light  of  day  :  he  is  unable  to  discriminate  colors, 
or  recognize  faces.  But  the  remedy  is,  not  to  remand 
him  into  his  dungeon,  but  to  accustom  him  to  the  rays 
of  the  sun. 

The  bl;ize  of  truth  and  liberty  may  at  first  dazzle 
and  bewilder  nations  which  have  become  half  blind 
in  the  house  of  bondage.     But  let  them  gaze  on,  and 


152  YOUNG  FOLKS'  READINGS. 

they  will  soon  be  al)le  to  bear  it.  In  a  few  years  men 
learn  to  reason.  The  extreme  violence  of  opinions 
subsides.  Hostile  theories  correct  each  otlier.  The 
scattered  elements  of  truth  cease  to  contend,  and  begin 
to  coalesce.  And  at  length  a  system  of  justice  and 
order  is  educed  out  of  the  chaos. 

Many  politicians  of  our  time  are  in  the  habit  of  lay- 
ing it  down  as  a  self-evident  proposition,  that  no  peo- 
ple ought  to  be  free  till  they  are  fit  to  use  their  free- 
dom. The  maxim  is  worthy  of  the  fool  in  the  old 
story,  who  resolved  not  to  go  into  the  water  till  he 
had  Tearncd  to  swim.  If  men  are  to  wait  for  liberty 
till  they  become  wise  and  good  in  slavery,  they  may 
indeed  wait  forever.  macaulay. 


WINK. 


I  HAVE  a  kitty,  and,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Ilcr  name  is  Puss,  but  I  call  her  "  Wink  ;  " 
And  the  reason  why  I  call  her  so 
Is  tliis  :   0,  ever  so  long  ago, 
My  n)oth(;r  brought  her  homo  one  day 
In  a  little  basket,  all  the  way 
From  —  dear  me  !  where  was  it  ?  —  I  can't  remember, 

It  was  80  long  —  the  name  of  the  town, 
But  the  month,  I'm  sure,  was  Juno  —  or  December  ; 

And  wIkmi  mother  set  the  basket  down 
On  the  kitchen  floor,  she  said,  "  Little  Grace, 
Just  ]>oQ\)  in  here,  but  take  care  of  j'our  face, 
For  it's  sometliiiig  'live,  and  it  may  jump  up." 
I  thought,  much  as  could  be,  it  must  be  a  pup, 
For  liH^ther  Jem  had  be(;n  teasing  hard 

For  a  IjJack  one,  all  fuzzy,  and  lull  of  his  fun, 
Like  the  one  that  lives  in  Joe  Cassidy's  yard  ; 

lie  rolls  over  and  over  —  he's  too  fat  to  run. 


WINK.  153 

But,  no  !  when  I  looked  in,  there  lay  a  kitty, 

All  cuddled  up  close,  so  silky  and  pretty, 

A  blue  cat  —  Aunt  Eleanor  says  slie's  Maltese  ; 

I  don't  know  what  that  is,  it  may  be  her  Ueece, 

'Cause  it  sliiues  so  ;   but  soon  as  my  new  kitty  saw 

That  the  basket  was  open,  she  stretched  out  her  paw 

To  shake  hands  with  her  mistress,  and  just  seemed  to  know 

She  had  come  to  a  good  homo  where  people  would 
treat  her 
Like  one  of  God's  creatures,  and  nobody  throw 

Stones  and  brickbats  to  hurt  her,  or  cruelly  beat  her. 
So  she  looked  up  at  me,  and  said,  softly,  "  You  ?  you  ?  " 
And  winked  just  as  hard  as  ever  she  knew. 
"  Yes,  it's  I,  little  Gracie,"  I  answered  her  then. 
And,  0,  don't  you  think,  she  began  winking  again  I 
Jemmy  laughed  —  so  did  I  —  but  she  didn't  get  cross 
At  our  fun,  like  May  Fisher  and  Lilian  Morse, 
But  was  just  as  good-iiatured  as  could  be,  and  lay 
As  still  as  a  mouse,  with  nothing  to  say. 
I  caught  her  up,  then,  and  hugged  her  and  kissed  her  — 

They  were  little  soft  hugs,  and  she  liked  them,  I  guess  — 
But  Jemmy  screamed  out,  "You  ai'C  choking  her,  sister!" 

And  frightened  her  so  she  hid  in  my  dress. 
She's  got  used  to  him  now,  and  don't  care  for  his  noise, 
For  she's  found  out  he's  just  like  tlic  rest  of  the  boys. 
Jem  says  she's  a  stupid,  and  can't  tell  a  rat 
Frum  a  rose-bush  ;   but  1  know  better  than  that. 
And  she  isn't  afraid  of  them,  either,  but  thinks 

It  isn't  quite  right  to  kill  them  for  sport, 
So  she  lies  on  the  mat  in  Ihe  wood-shed  and  winks 

At  their  pranks,  and  they  never  get  caught, 
/don't  care,  I  am  sure,  for  rats  like  to  live 
Just  as  well  as  we  do,  and  if  people  would  give 
Them  their  food  every  day  in  a  little  tin  dish. 
They'd  learn  to  be  honest,  perhaps,  and  eat  fish. 
And  pick  bones,  like  tlie  cats,  and  behave  very  well, 
As  poor  Wink  does.     That's  all.     I've  no  more  to  tell. 

Mus.  £.  U.  Ki:nd.u.l. 


154  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE   STUBBORN   BOOT. 

"  pOTIIER  !  "  was  all  John  Clattcrby  said. 
13    liis  breath  came  quick,  and  hi-s  cheek  was  red, 
Ho  llourished  his  elbows,  and  looked  absurd. 
^VhilG  over  and  over  his  "  Bother  !  "  I  heard. 

Harder  and  harder  the  fellow  worked, 
Vainly  and  savagely  still  he  jerked  ; 
The  boot,  half  on,  would  dangle  and  flap  — 
"  Bother  !  "  and  then  he  burstcd  the  strap. 

Bedder  than  ever  his  hot  cheek  flamed  ; 
Harder  than  ever  he  fumed  and  blamed  ; 
He  wriggled  his  heel,  and  tugged  at  the  leather 
Till  knees  and  chin  came  bumping  together. 

"  My  boy,"  said  I,  in  a  voice  like  a  flute, 
"  Wiiy  not  —  ahem  !  —  try  the  mate  of  that  boot  ? 
Or  the  other  foot  ?  "  —  "I'm  a  goose  !  "  laughed  John, 
As  he  stood,  in  a  flash,  with  his  two  boots  on. 

In  half  the  affairs 

Of  this  busy  life 
(As  that  same  day 

I  said  to  my  wife). 
Our  troubles  corne 

From  trying  to  put 
The  left-hand  shoe 

On  the  right-hand  foot; 
Or  vice  versa 

(Meaning,  reverse,  sir). 
To  try  to  force. 

As  quite  of  course, 
Any  wrong  foot 

In  the  right  shoe, 
Is  the  silliest  thing 

A  man  can  do.  jj^^^^^  ^^  jj^_ 


MARSTON   MOOR.  155 


MARSTON   MOOR. 


''pO  horse  !  to  horse  !  Sir   Nicholas,  the  clarion's  note  is 
1  liig-h  ! 

To  horse  !  to  liorse  !  Sir  Nicholas,  the  big-  drum  makes 

reply  ! 
Ere  this  hath  Lucas  marched,  with  his  gallant  cavaliers, 
And  the  bray  of  Rupert's  trumpets  grows  fainter  in  our 

ears. 
To  horse  !  to  horse  !  Sir  Nicholas  !  White  Guy  is  at  the 

door. 
And  the  raven  whets  liis  beak  o'er  the  liehl  of  Marston 

Moor. 


Up  rose  the  Lady  Alice  from  her  brief  and  broken  prayer, 
And  she  brought  a  silken  banner  down  the  narrow  turret- 
stair. 
0  !  many  were  tlie  tears  that  those  radiant  eyes  had  shed, 
As  she  traced  tiic   brig-lit  word  "  Glory  "  in  the  g-ay  and 

glancing  thread  ; 
And  mournful  was  the  smile  which  o'er  those  lovely  fea- 
tures ran, 
As  she  said,   "  It  is  your   lady's  gift ;  unfurl  it  in  the 
van  ! " 

"  It  shall  flutter,  noble  wench,  where  the  best  and  boldest 

ride, 
'Midst  the  steel-clad  files  of  Skippon,  the  black  dragoons 

of  Pride  ; 
The  recreant  heart  of  Fairfax  shall  feel  a  sicklier  qualm. 
And  the  rebel  lips  of  Oliver  give  out  a  louder  psalm, 
When  they  see  my  lady's  gewgaw  flaunt  proudly  on  their 

wing. 
And  hear  her  loval  children  shout,  "  For  God,  and  for  the 

King  f" 


156  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

'Tis  soon.     The  ranks  arc  broken,  along  the  royal  line 
They  lly,  the   brag-g-arts  of  the  court !  the  bullies  of  the 

Rhine  ! 
Stout  Langdale's  cheer  is  heard   no  more,  and  Aetley's 

helm  is  down, 
And  Rupert  sheathes  his  i-apicr,  with  a  curse  and  with  a 

liown, 
And  cold  Newcastle  mutters,  as  he  follows  in  their  flight, 
"  The  German  boar  Lad  better  far  have  supped  in  York 

to-uight." 

The  knight  is  left  alone,  his  stool-cap  cleft  in  twain, 

llis  good  buif  jerkin  crimsoned   o'er  with  many  a  gory 

stain  ; 
Yet  still  he  waves  his  banner,  and  cries  amid  the  rout, 
"  For  Church  and  King,  fair  gentlemen !  spur  on,  and  fight 

it  out  !  " 
And  now  he  wards  a  Roundhead's  pike,  and  now  he  hums 

a  stave, 
And   now  lie   quotes   a   stage-play,   and   now  he   fells  a 

knave. 

God  aid  thee  now.  Sir  Nicholas  I  thou  hast  no  thought 

of  fear  ; 
God   aid   thee   now.  Sir   Nicholas  I  for  fearful  odds  are 

here  I 
The  rebels  hem  thee  in,  and  at  every  cut  and  tlirnst, 
"  Down,  down,"  they  cry,  "  with  Belial  !   dov/n  with  him 

to  the  dust  1  " 
"  I  would,"  quoth  griin  old  Oliver,  "  that  Belial's  trusty 

sword 
This  day  wen;  doing  battle  for  the  saijits   and  for  the 

Lord  1  " 

The  Lady  Alice  sits  with  her  maidens  in  her  bower. 
The  gray-haired  warder  watches  from  the   castle's  top- 
most tower  : 


MARSTON   MOOR.  157 

"  What  news  ?  what  news,  old  Hubert  ?  "  —  "  The  bat- 
tle's lost  and  won  : 

The  royal  troops  are  melting',  like  mists  before  the  sun  ! 

And  a  wounded  man  approaches  —  I'm  blind  and  cannot 
see, 

Yet  sure  I  am  that  sturdy  step  my  master's  step  must 
be!" 

"  I've  brought  tliee  back  tliy  banner,  wench,  from  as  rude 
and  red  a  fray 

As  e'er  was  proof  of  soldier's  thcw,  or  theme  for  min- 
strel's lay  ! 

Here,  Hubert,  bring  the  silver  bowl,  and  liquor  quanlum 
suJ/\ 

I'll  make  a  sliift  to  drain  it  yet,  ere  I  part  with  boots  and 
buff  — 

Though  Guy  tlirough  many  a  gaping  wound  is  breathing 
forth  his  lil'e, 

And  I  come  to  thee  a  landless  man,  my  fond  and  faithful 
wife  1 

"  Sweet,  we  will  fill  our  money-bags,  and  freight  a  ship 

for  France, 
And  mourn  in  merry  Paris  for  this  poor  land's  mischance; 
¥ov  if  the  worst  befall  me,  wliy,  better  axe  and  rope. 
Than  life  witli  Lenthal  for  a  king,  and  Peters  for  a  pope  ! 
Alas  !  alas  !  my  gallant  Guy  !  —  curse  on  the  crop-eared 

boor 
Who  sent  me,  with  my  standard,  on  foot  from  Marston 

Moor  !  "  ^v.  M.  i-KAKu. 


158        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


CALDWELL   OF   SPRINGFIELD. 

HERE'S  the  spot.     Look  ai'ound  you.     Above  on  tlie 
heig-lit 
Lay   the   Hessians  encamped.     By  that  church   on  the 

right 
Stood  the  g-aunt  Jersey  farmers.     And  hero  ran  a  wall  — 
You  may  dig  anywhere  and  you'll  turn  up  a  ball. 
Nothing  more.      Grasses  spring,  waters  run,  flowers  blow 
Pretty  much  as  they  did  ninety-three  years  ago. 

Nothing  more,   did  I  say?     Stay,  one  moment;  you've 

heard 
Of  Caldwell,  the  parson,  who  once  preached  the  word 
Down  at  Springfield  ?     What,  no  ?     Come  —  that's  bad, 

why,  he  had 
All  tlie  Jerseys  aflame  !     And  they  gave  him  tlio  name 
Of  the  "  rebel  high  priest."     lie  stuck  in  their  gorge, 
For  he  loved  the  Lord  God  —  and  he  hated  King  George  ! 

Ue  had  cause,  you  might  say  !     When  the  Hessians  that 

day, 
Marched  up  with  Knyphausen,  they  stopped  on  their  way 
At  the  "  Farms,"  where  his  wife,  with  a  child  in  her  arms. 
Sat  alone  in  tlie  Ikjusc.      How  it  liappened,  none  knew 
But  God  —  and  that  one  of  the  hireling  crew 
Who  fired  the  shot.     Enough  1  —  there  she  lay, 
And  Caldwell,  the  chaplain,  her  husband,  away  ! 

Did  lie   preach  —  did   he  pray?     Think  of  liim,  as  j'ou 

stand 
By  the  old  chiirrh  to-day;  think  of  liim,  and  that  liand 
01   militant  plonghboys  I      See  the  smoke  and  the  heat 
Of  that  reckless  advance  —  of  that  straggling  retreat! 
Kefjp  the  ghost  of  that  wife,  foully  slain,  in  your  view  — 
And  what  could  you  —  what  should  you  —  what  would 

yon  do  ? 


WASHINGTON.  1 50 

Wliy,  just  what  he  did  !     Thoy  wore  left  in  tlio  lurch 
For  tlic  want  of  mure  wadding'.      He  ran  to  the  church, 
Broke  the  door,  stripped  the  pews,  and  dashed  out  in  the 

road 
With  his  arms  full  of  hymn-books,  and  threw  down  his 

load 
At  their  feet !     Then,  above  all  the  shouting  and  shots. 
Rang  his  voice,  "  Put  Watts  into   'em  —  boys,  give  'em 

Watts  I  " 

And  they  did.     That  is  all.     Grasses  spring,  flowers  blow 
Pretty  much  as  they  did  ninety-three  years  ago. 
You  may  dig  anywhere  and  you'll  turn  up  a  ball  — 
But  not  always  a  hero  like  this  —  and  that's  all. 

lillliT  U.UITE. 


WASHINGTON. 

ROME  had  its  Caesar,  great  and  brave  ;   but  stain  was 
on  his  wreath  ; 
lie  lived  the  heartless  conqueror,  and  died  the  tyrant's 

death. 
France  had  its  eagle  ;  but  his  wings,  though  lofty  they 

might  soar, 
Were   spread  in   false   ambition's   llight,   and   dipped   in 
murder's  gore. 

Those  hero-gods,  whose  mighty  sway  would  fiin  have 
chained  the  waves  — 

Who  fleshed  their  blades  with  tiger  zeal  to  make  a  world 
of  slaves  — 

Who,  though  their  kindred  barred  the  path,  still  fiercely 
Avadod  on  — 

0!  where  shall  be  their  "  glory  "  by  the  side  of  Washing- 
ton ? 


IGO  YOUXG  folks'  readings. 

lie  fought,  but  not  with  love  of  strife  —  he  struck  but 

to  defend  ; 
And  ere  he  turned  a  people's  foe,  he  sought  to  be  a  friend. 
He  strove  to  keep  his  country's  right,  by  reason's  gentle 

word, 
And   sighed  when   fell   injustice  threw  the  challenge  — 

sword  to  sword. 

He  stood,  the  firm,  the  calm,  the  wise,  the  patriot  and 

sage  ; 
lie  showed  no  deep,  avenging  hate  —  no  burst  of  despot 

rage. 
lie  stood  for  liberty  and  truth,  and  dauntlessly  led  on. 
Till  shouts  of  victory  gave  forth  the  name  of  Washington. 

He  saved  hifs  land,  but  did  not  lay  his  soldier  trappings 

down 
To   change   thorn   for  the   regal  vest,  and   don  a  kingly 

crown. 
Fame  was  too  earnest  in  her  joy  —  too  proud  of  such  a 

son  — 
T(j  lot  a  robe  and  title  mask  a  noble  Washington. 

Kliza  Cooke. 


A  HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO. 

A    HUNDRED  years  have  rolled  away, 
x\    Since  that  high,  heroic  day 
Wlien  our  fathers,  in  the  fray, 

Struck  the  conquering  blow  ! 
Praise  to  thoni  —  the  bohl  who  spoke. 
Praise  to  them  —  the  brave  who  broke 
Stern  oppression's  galling  yoke, 
A  hundred  years  ago. 


A   HUNDRED   YEARS   AGO.  161 

Pour  the  wine  of  sacrifice, 
Lot  the  grateful  anthem  rise, 
Shall  we  e'er  resign  the  prize  ? 

Never  —  never  —  no  ! 
Hearts  and  hands  shall  guard  those  rights, 
Bought  on  Freedom's  battle  heights, 
Where  he  fixed  his  signal  lights, 

A  hundred  years  ago. 

Swear  it,  by  the  mighty  dead, 
Them  who  counselled,  them  who  led. 
By  the  blood  your  fathers  shed, 

By  your  mothers'  woe  ; 
Swear  it,  by  the  living  few, 
Them  whose  breasts  were  scarred  for  you, 
When  to  freedom's  ranks  they  flew, 

A  hundred  years  ago. 

By  the  joys  that  cluster  round, 
By  our  vales  with  plenty  crowned. 
By  our  hill-tops,  holy  ground, 

Rescued  from  the  foe, 
Where  of  old  the  Indian  strayed. 
Where  of  old  the  Pilgrim  prayed. 
Where  the  patriot  drew  his  blade, 

A  hundred  years  ago. 

Should  again  the  war-trump  peal, 
There  shall  Indian  firmness  seal 
Pilgrim  faith  and  patriot  zeal, 

Prompt  to  strike  the  blow  ; 
There  shall  valor's  work  be  done  ; 
Like  the  sire  shall  be  the  son. 
Where  the  fight  was  waged  and  won, 

A  hundred  years  ago. 
11 


162        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


A   XIGIIT   OF   TERROR. 

PAUL  LOUIS  COURIER  thus  writes  to  a  cousin, 
of  a  scries  of  terrors  experienced  by  him :  — 

"  I  Avas  one  clay  travelling  in  Calabria ;  a  country 
of  people  who,  I  believe,  have  no  great  liking  to  any- 
body, and  are  particularly  ill-disposed  towards  tlie 
French.  To  tell  you  wliy  would  be  a  long  afiair.  It 
is  enough  that  they  hate  us  to  death,  and  that  the 
unhappy  being  who  sliould  chance  to  fall  into  their 
hands  would  not  pass  his  time  in  the  most  agreeable 
manner.  I  had  for  my  companion  a  worthy  young 
fellow  ;  I  do  not  say  this  to  interest  you,  but  because 
it  is  the  truth.  In  these  mountains,  the  roads  are 
precipices,  and  our  horses  advanced  with  the  greatest 
difficulty.  My  comrade  going  first,  a  track,  which  ap- 
peared to  him  more  practicable  and  shorter  than  the 
regular  path,  led  us  astray.  It  was  my  fault.  Ought 
I  to  have  trusted  to  a  head  of  twenty  years  ?  We 
sought  our  way  out  of  the  wood  while  it  was  yet 
liglit ;  but  the  more  we  looked  for  the  path,  the  far- 
ther we  were  off  it. 

"  It  was  a  very  black  night,  when  we  came  close 
upon  a  very  black  ljou.se.  We  went  in,  and  not  with- 
out suspicion.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  There  we 
found  a  whole  family  of  charcoal-burners  at  table.  At 
the  first  word,  they  invited  us  to  join  them.  My  young 
man  did  not  stop  for  much  ceremony,  in  a  minute  or 
two  we  were  eating  and  drinking  in  right  earnest  — 
be  at  least ;  for  my  own  part,  I  could  not  help  glan- 
cing about  at  the  place  and  the  people.  Our  hosts, 
indeed,  looked  like  charcoal-burners ;  but  the  house  1 


A   NIGHT  OF   TERROR.  163 

you  would  have  taken  it  for  an  arsenal.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  muskets,  pistols,  sabres,  knives, 
cutlasses.  Everything  displeased  me,  and  I  saw  that 
I  was  in  no  favor  myself.  ^ly  comrade,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  soon  one  of  the  flimily.  He  laughed,  he 
chatted  with  them  ;  and  with  an  imprudence  which  I 
ought  to  have  prevented,  he  at  once  said  where  we 
came  from,  where  we  were  going,  and  that  we  were 
Frenchmen.  Think  of  our  situation  !  Here. we  were 
among  our  mortal  enemies  —  alone,  benighted,  and 
far  from  all  human  aid.  That  nothing  might  be 
omitted  that  could  tend  to  our  destruction,  he  must, 
forsooth,  play  the  rich  man,  promising  these  folks  to 
pay  them  well  for  their  hospitality  ;  and  then  he  must 
prate  about  his  portmanteau,  earnestly  beseeching 
them  to  take  care  of  it,  and  put  it  at  the  head  of  his 
bed,  for  he  wanted  no  other  pillow.  Ah,  youth,  youth  ! 
how  art  thou  to  be  pitied  !  Cousin,  they  might  have 
thought  that  w^e  carried  the  diamonds  of  the  crown  : 
and  yet  the  treasure  in  his  portmanteau,  which  gave 
him  so  much  anxiety,  consisted  only  of  some  private 

letters ! 

"  Supper  ended,  they  left  us.  Our  hosts  slept  be- 
low ;  we  on  the  story  where  we  had  been  eating.  In 
a  sort  of  platform  raised  seven  or  eight  feet,  where  we 
were  to  mount  by  a  ladder,  was  the  bed  that  awaited 
lis  —  a  nest  into  which  we  had  to  introduce  ourselves 
by  jumping  over  barrels  filled  with  provisions  for  all 
the  year.  My  comrade  seized  upon  the  bed  above, 
and  was  soon  fast  asleep,  with  his  head  upon  the  pre- 
cious portmanteau.  I  was  determined  to  keep  awake, 
so  I  made  a  good  iire,  and  sat  myself  down.  The 
night  was  almost  passed  over  tranquilly  enough,  and 


164  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

I  was  beginning  to  be  comfortable,  when  just  at  the 
time  it  appeared  to  me  that  day  was  about  to  break,  I 
lieard  our  host  and  his  wife  talking  and  disputing  be- 
low me  ;  and,  putting  my  ear  into  the  chimney,  which 
communicated  with  the  lower  room,  I  perfectly  dis- 
tinguished these  exact  words  of  the  husband  :  '  Well, 
well,  let  us  see  —  must  we  kill  them  both  ? '  To  which 
the  wife  replied,  '  Yes  ! '  and  I  heard  no  more. 

*'  How  should  I  tell  you  the  rest  ?  I  could  scarcely 
breathe  ;  my  whole  body  was  as  cold  as  marble  ;  had 
you  seen  me,  you  could  not  have  told  whether  I  was 
dead  or  alive.  Even  now,  the  thought  of  my  condition 
is  enough.  We  two  were  almost  without  arms;  against 
us,  were  twelve  or  fifteen  persons  who  had  plenty  of 
weapons.  And  then,  my  comrade  was  overwhelmed 
with  sleep.  To  call  him  up,  to  make  a  noise,  was  more 
than  I  "dared  ;  to  escape  alone  was  an  impossibility. 
The  window  was  not  very  high  ;  but  under  it  were 
two  great  dogs,  howling  like  wolves.  Imagine,  if  you 
can,  the  distress  I  was  in.  At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  which  seemed  to  be  an  age,  I  heard  some  one 
on  the  staircase,  and,  through  the  chink  of  the  door,  I 
saw  the  old  man,  with  a  lamp  in  one  hand,  and  one  of 
liis  great  knives  in  the  other. 

"  The  crisis  was  now  come.  He  mounted — his  wife 
followed  him,  I  was  behind  the  door.  He  opened  it ; 
but  before  he  entered,  he  put  down  the  lamp,  which 
his  wife  took  up,  and  coming  in,  with  his  feet  naked, 
hIic,  being  behind  him,  said,  in  a  smothered  voice,  hid- 
ing the  light  partially  with  her  fingers,  '  Gently,  go 
gently.'  On  reaching  the  ladder,  he  mounted,  with  his 
knife  between  his  teeth,  and  going  to  the  head  of  the 
bod  where  tliat  poor  young  man  lay,  with  his  throat 


THE   UNFINISHPJD   TRAYER.  165 

uncovered,  with  one  hand  he  took  the  knife,  and  with 
the  other  —  ah,  my  cousin  !  —  he  seized  —  a  ham  wliich 
hung  from  the  roof,  cut  a  slice,  and  retired  as  he  had 
come  in  I 

"  When  the  day  appeared,  all  the  fimily,  with  a  great 
noise,  came  to  rouse  us  as  we  had  desired.  They 
brought  us  plenty  to  eat ;  they  served  us  up,  I  assure 
you,  a  capital  breakfast.  Two  chickens  formed  a  part 
of  it,  the  hostess  saying,  '  You  must  eat  one,  and  carry 
away  the  other.'  When  I  saw  them,  I  at  once  com- 
prehended the  meaning  of  those  terrible  words,  '  Must 
we  kill  them  both?'" 


THE  UNFINISHED   PRAYER. 

NOW  I  lay,"  repeat  it,  darling  ; 
"  Lay  me,"  lisped  the  tiny  lips 
Of  my  daughter,  kneeling,  bending 
O'er  her  folded  finger-tips. 

"  Down  to  sleep."     "  To  sleep,"  she  murmured, 

And  tlio  curly  head  dropped  low  ; 
"  I  pray  the  Lord,"  1  gently  added, 

You  can  say  it  all,  you  know. 

"  Praj'  the  Lord,"  the  word  came  faintly, 
Painter  still,  "  My  soul  to  keep  ;  " 

Then  the  tired  liead  fairly  nodded, 
And  the  child  fell  fast  asleep. 

But  the  dewy  eyos  half  opened 

When  I  clasped  her  to  my  breast, 
And  the  dear  voice  softly  whispered, 

"  Majuma,  God  knows  all  the  rest." 


166        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


BLIXD^IAX'S   BUFF. 

THREE  wags  (whom  some  fastidious  carpers 
Mji^ht  rather  designate  three  sliarpers) 
Entered  at  York,  the  cat  and  fiddle  ; 

And  finding  that  the  host  was  out 
On  business  for  two  hours  or  more, 
AVliile  Sam,  the  rustic  waiter,  wore 

The  visage  of  a  simple  lout, 
Whom  they  might  safely  try  to  diddle,  — 
They  ordered  dinner  in  a  canter,  — 

Cold  or  hot,  it  mattered  not, 
Provided  it  was  served  instanter. 

Sam  soon  produced  a  first-rate  dinner, 
On  which  an  alderman  might  dine  ; 
Joints  hot  and  cold,  dessert  and  wine, 

lie  Hfircad  before  each  hungry  sinner. 
AVith  talking,  laughing,  eating,  and  quaffing, 

The  bottles  stood  no  moment  still. 
They  rallied  Sam  with  joke  and  banter. 
And,  as  they  drained  the  last  decanter, 

Called  for  the  bill. 

'Twas  brought,  —  when  one  of  them,  who  eyed 
And  added  up  the  items,  cried, 

"  Extremely  moderate,  indeed  ! 
I'll  make  a  point  to  recommend 
This  inn  to  every  travelling  friend  ; 

And  you,  Sam,  shall  be  doubly  fee'd." 
This  said,  a  weighty  purse  he  drew, 

When  his  companion  interposed. 
"  Nay,  Ilarrj',  that  will  never  do  ; 

Pray  let  your  purse  again  be  closed  ; 
You  paid  all  charges  yesterday  ; 
'Tis  clearly  now  my  turn  to  pay." 
Harry,  however,  wouldn't  listen 

To  any  such  insulting  offer  ; 


blindman's  buff.  ]G7 

His  {generous  eyes  appeared  to  glisten 

Iiulig-nant  at  the  very  proflcr  ; 
Ami  though  his  friend  talked  loud,  his  clangor 
Served  but  to  aggravate  Hal's  anger. 
"  My  worthy  fellow,"  cried  the  third, 
"  Now,  really,  this  is  too  absurd. 
AVhat !  ilo  3"ou  both  forget 
I  haven't  paid  a  farthing  yet  ? 

Am  1  in  every  house  to  cram. 
At  your  expense  ?     'Tis  childish,  quite. 
1  claim  this  payment  as  my  right. 

Here,  how  much  is  the  nioney,  Sam  ?  " 

The  others  bawled  out  fierce  negation, 
And  hot  became  the  altercation  ; 
Each  in  his  purse  his  money  rattling, 
Insisting,  arguing,  luid  battling. 
One  of  them  cried,  at  last,  "  A  truce  ! 
Wrangling  for  trilles  is  no  use. 

That  we  may  settle  what  we  three  owe, 
We'll  blindfold  Sam,  and  whichsoe'cr 
He  catches  of  us  first  shall  bear 

All  the  expenses  of  the  trio, 
With  half  a  crown  (if  that's  enough) 
To  Sam  for  playing  blintinian's  bull." 
Sam  liked  it  hugely,  —  thought  the  ransom 
For  a  good  game  of  fun  was  handsome  ; 
Gave  his  own  handkerchief  beside, 
To  have  his  eyes  securely  tied. 
And  soon  began  to  grope  and  search  ; 

When  the  three  knaves,  I  needn't  say, 
Adroitly  left  him  in  the  lurch, 

Slipped  down  the  stairs,  and  stole  away. 

Poor  Sam  continued  hard  at  work. 

Now  o'er  a  chair  he  gets  a  lall  ; 
Now  floundering  forward  with  a  jerk, 

lie  bubs  his  nose  against  the  wall ; 


168  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  now,  encouraged  b}'^  a  subtle 

Fancy  that  they're  near  the  door, 

He  jumps  behind  it  to  explore, 
And  breaks  his  shins  against  the  scuttle. 
Just  in  the  crisis  of  his  doom. 
The  host,  returning,  sought  the  room  ; 
Sam  pounced  upon  liim  like  a  bruin, 
And  almost  shook  him  into  ruin. 
"  Huzza  !  I've  caught  you  now  ;  so  down 
"With  cash  for  all,  and  my  half  crown  !  " 

Off  went  the  bandage,  and  Iiis  eyes 
Seemed  to  be  goggling  o'er  his  forehead. 
While  his  mouth  widened  with  a  horrid 

Look  of  agonized  surprise. 
"You  gudgeon!"  roared  his  master;  "  gull!  and  dunce! 
Fool,  as  you  are,  in  that  you're  right  for  once  ; 
'Tis  clear  that  I  must  pay  the  sum  ; 

But  this  one  thouglit  my  wrath  assuages, 
That  every  half-penny  shall  come. 

Dolt,  from  your  wages  !  "  Horace  Smin. 


KEARNY  AT  SEVEN  TINES. 

SO  that  soldierly  legend  is  still  on  its  journey  — 
Tiiat  story  of  Iveariiy  who  knew  not  to  yield  ! 
'Twas   the   day  when,  with  Jameson,  fierce   Berry  and 
Birney, 
Against  twenty  thousand  he  rallied  the  field. 
"Where   the  red  volleys  poured,  where   the   clamor  rose 
highest, 
"Wlicre  the  dead  lay  in  clumps  through  the  dwarf-oak 
and  pine  ; 
Where  the  aim  from  tlie  thicket  was  surest  and  nighcst, 
No  charge  like  Phil  Keaniy's  along  the  whole  Hue. 


KEARNY    AT   SEVEN   PINES.  1G9 

When  the  battle  wont  ill,  and  the  bravest  were  solemn, 
Near  the   dark   Seven  Pines,  where  wo   still  held  our 
ground, 
lie  rode  down  the  length  of  the  withering  column, 

And  his  heart  at  our  war-cry  leaped  up  with  a  bound  ; 
He  snuffed,  like  his  charger,  the  wind  of  the  powder. 

His  sword  waved  us  on,  and  we  answered  the  sign  ; 
Loud   our  cheers  as  we  rushed,  but  his  laugh   rang  the 
louder,  — 
"  There's  the   devil's  own  fun,  boys,  along  the  Avhole 
line  ! " 

ITow  he  strode  his  brown  steed  !     How  we  saw  his  blade 
brighten 

In  the  one  hand  still  left  —  and  the  reins  in  his  teeth  ! 
He  laughed  like  a  boy  when  thu  holidays  heighten, 

But  a  soldier's  glance  shot  from  his  visor  beneath. 
Up  came  the  reserves  to  the  mellay  infernal, 

Asking  where  to  go  in  —  through  the  clearing  or  pine  ? 
"  0,  anywhere  !     Forward  !     'Tis  all  the  same,  colonel  ; 

You'll  tind  lovely  fighting  along  the  whole  line  !  " 

0,  evil  the  black  shroud  of  night  at  Chantilly, 

That  hid  him  from  sight  of  his  brave  men  and  tried  I 
Foul,  foul  sped  the  bullet  tliut  clipped  the  white  lily. 

The  flower  of  our  knighthood,  the  whole  army's  pride  I 
Yet  we  dream  that  he  still,  in  that  shadowy  region. 

Where  the  dead  form  their  ranks  at  the  wan  drummer's 
sign, 
Rides  on,  as  of  old,  down  the  length  of  his  legion, 

And  the  word  still  is  —  Forward  I  along  the  whole  line. 

Edmuko  C.  Siedman. 


170  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


BABY  FAITH. 

0  BEAUTIFUL  Axith  of  childhood  !     How 
It  beamed  to-nig-ht  on  the  upturned  brow 
Of  my  three-year  Love,  as  she  knelt  to  say 
Her  prayers,  in  her  guileless,  dreamy  way. 

"  And  wouldn't  my  darling  like,"  I  said, 
As  softly  I  stroked  the  bowing  head, 
"  Like  to  be  good,  and  by  and  by 
Go  to  a  home  in  the  happy  sky. 
Away  and  away  above  yon  star. 
Where  God  and  his  holy  angels  are  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  drowsy  and  dewy  eyes. 
And  a  shy,  scared  look  of  half  surprise 
Kippled  and  filmed  their  depth  of  blue. 
And  kept  the  gladness  from  breaking  through  ; 
"  I  think  I  would  like  to  go,"  she  said, 
Yet  doubtingly  shook  her  golden  head, 
And  clasped  my  hands  in  her  fingers  small, 
"But  then,  I'm  afraid  thai  I  might  fall 
Out  at  the  moon  !  " 

Her  baby  eye 
Saw  only  an  opening  in  the  sky  — 
A  marvellous  oriel,  whence  the  light 
Of  heaven  streamed  out  across  the  night  — 
Where  the  angels  lean,  as  they  come  and  go, 
Agaze  at  our  world  so  far  below. 

She  mused  a  moment  in  tender  thought,    - 
Then  suddenly  every  feature  caught 
A  new,  rare  sparkle,  and  I  could  trace 
The  dawn  of  trust  that  flashed  her  face. 
"  But  God  is  good.     He  will  understand 
That  Baby's  afraid,  and  will  take  my  hand 
And  lead  me  in  at  the  shining  door. 
And  then  I  shall  be  afraid  no  more." 

Christian  Observer. 


BE   PATIENT.  171 


BE  PATIENT. 

BE  patient !   0,  be  patient !     Put  your  ear  against  the 
earth  ; 
Listen  there  how  noiselessly  the  germ  o'  the  seed  has 

birtii  ; 
How  noiselessly  and  gently  it  upheaves  its  little  way, 
Till  it  parts  the   scarcely  broken   ground,  and  the  blade 
stands  up  in  the  day. 

Be  patient !  0,  be  patient !     The  germs  of  mighty  thought 

Must  have  their  silent  undergrowth,  must  underground  be 
wrought ; 

But  as  sure  as  there's  a  power  that  makes  the  grass  ap- 
pear, 

Our  land  shall  be  green  with  liberty,  the  blade-time  shall 
be  here. 

Be  patient !   0,   be  patient !     Go   and  watch  the  wheat 

ears  grow  — 
So  imperceptibly  that  ye  can  mai'k  nor  change  nor  throe  — 
Day  after  day,  day  after  day,  till  the  ear  is  fully  grown, 
And  then  again,  day  after  day,  till  the  ripened  field  is 

brown. 

Be  patient !   0,  be  patient  !  though  yet  our  hopes  are 

green, 
The  harvest  fields  of  freedom  shall  be  crowned  with  sunny 

sheen. 
Be  ripening  !  be  ripening  !  mature  your  silent  way, 
Till  the  whole  broad  land  is  tongued  with  fire  or  freedom's 

harvest  day. 

French. 


172  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


MY   DOG  "SPORT." 


I  HAVE  always  loved  dogs,  and  dogs  have  always 
loved  me.  I  cannot  recall  a  time  in  my  life  when 
I  was  afi-aid  of  a  dog,  and  I  never  knew  a  dog  to  be 
cross  to  me.  We  understand  each  other.  Dogs,  like 
j)eople,  soon  find  out  who  are  their  friends,  and  all  the 
sympathy  of  their  dog  nature  Avarms  up  to  them.  I 
endure  cats.  I  fancy  birds.  I  like  horses.  But  I 
love  dogs  with  a  real  human  love.  I  have  been  the 
owner  of  a  good  many,  and  their  memory  is  fragrant 
with  me  yet. 

But  the  best  and  loveliest  of  them  all  was  Sport. 
He  was  as  handsome  as  a  picture  —  of  a  rich  brown 
color,  with  large,  liquid  eyes,  full  of  inexpressible 
tenderness,  long  silken  ears  that  reached  nearly  to 
the  ground,  a  short  pug  nose,  and  square,  intellec- 
tual head.  He  was  a  rare  beauty.  People  would 
always  stop  and  look  round  at  him  as  he  passed. 
Thieves  tried  to  steal  him  ;  but  he  was  too  cunning 
for  them. 

He  understood  language,  as  far  as  his  range  of 
words  went,  as  well  as  a  man  ;  yes,  better  than  some 
men  I  know.  He  would  watch  my  every  motion,  and 
at  the  slightest  hint  would  be  off  like  shot  to  do  my 
bidding.  H"  I  told  him  to  take  a  man's  hat  off  in  the 
street  (which,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  have  done),  he 
would  give  a  spring  to  his  shoulders,  and  bring  me 
the  hat  before  the  man  had  time  to  get  over  his  scare 
and  look  round.  Sometimes,  if  I  left  home  and  had 
forgotten  something,  it  would  be  enough  to  say, 
"  Sport,  '  handkerchief ! '   '  pocket-book  ! '    '  gloves  ! '  " 


MY   DOG   "  SrORT."  173 

when  away  he  'would  go,  soon  after  returning  with 
the  article  in  his  mouth. 

I  was  once  bathing  in  the  Delaware.  After  I  had 
dressed  and  gone  a  mile  from  the  place,  I  found  that 
I  had  left  my  necktie.  I  looked  at  Sport,  pointed  at 
my  neck,  and  said,  "  Bring  it."  Before  the  words 
were  fairly  spoken  he  was  off,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  returned  with  the  tie  in  his  mouth. 

I  used  to  play  hide  and  seek  with  him.  I  would  turn 
him  out  of  the  room,  and  then  hide  my  handkerchief. 
He  always  beat  me.  I  would  put  it  under  the  carpet, 
inside  the  piano,  stuff  it  down  behind  the  sofa  seat. 
But  he  always  found  it.  Once  I  put  it  on  top  of  the 
curtain  cornice.  He  had  a  long  hunt  that  time  ;  but 
at  last  he  mounted  on  a  chair,  looked  up,  gave  a 
long  snuff,  then  wagged  his  tail  and  whined.  He 
couldn't  get  it,  but  told  me  plainly  enough  where 
it  was. 

One  Sunday  night  I  came  home  from  church  very 
tired,  and  thought  I  would  see  if  he  could  get  my 
slippers.  I  took  off  my  boots,  and,  pointing  to  my 
feet,  said,  "  Sport,  slippers  ! "  It  was  a  new  word 
to  him.  He  looked  at  me  sharply  ;  then  at  my  feet ; 
then  away  he  went  to  the  bedroom  and  brought  my 
nightgoAvn.  Seeing  my  boots  off,  and  knowing  that 
it  was  near  bed-time,  he  thought  that  was  what  I 
wanted.  I  shook  my  head,  "  No,  no ; "  and  again 
pointed  to  my  feet.  "  Shppers,  see  1 "  showing  the 
uncovered  foot.  Away  ho  went  the  second  time, 
returning  with  the  bootjack.  I  said,  ''  No,  no.''  Ho 
looked  at  me  again  inquiringly,  turned  his  head  on 
one  side,  then  dashed  off  the  third  time  with  a  sharp 
yelp.     This  time  he  got  them  ;  and,  0,  how  glad  and 


174  YOUNG  FOLKS'  READINGS. 

proud  he  was  when  I  patted  him  approvingly  !     He 
never  made  a  mistake  about  slippers  after  that. 

Of  all  dogs  he  was  the  most  faithful.  If  I  put  any- 
thing ill  his  charge,  he  would  guard  it  for  hours,  and  I 
believe  he  would  have  sacrificed  his  life  rather  than 
desert  it.  Put  him  beside  a  sleeping  child,  and  say, 
"  "Watch  ! "  and  woe  betide  any  one  who  should  dis- 
turb that  cliild  ! 

Once  I  came  to  the  city  in  a  steamboat.  I  put  my 
valise  on  the  fore-deck,  and  told  Sport  to  watch  it. 
He  lay  down  with  his  paw  upon  it,  and  his  sharp 
eyes  unclosed.  When  the  boat  reached  the  landing, 
a  colored  porter  rushed  up  to  me,  crying  out,  "  Bag- 
gage ?  baggage  ?  "  "  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  take  that  vahse." 
pointing  to  it.  He  sprang  for  it,  but  Sport  made  a 
snap  at  him  that  soon  drove  him  back.  He  tried  in 
vain  to  get  possession  of  it  by  artifice.  I  stood  by 
laughing. 

The  porter  saw  the  joke,  and  went  ashore  to  call  a 
comrade.  "  Here,  Pete,"  he  said,  "  take  that  gen'l'- 
man's  valise.  I'm  full ! "  Away  the  second  fellow 
went  for  it ;  but  Sport's  teeth  rattled  more  furiously 
than  ever.  I  offered  him  double  fare  if  he  would  get 
it ;  but  it  was  of  no  use.  Sport  was  too  much  for  him  ; 
and  even  after  I  had  called  him  off  duty  he  eyed  the 
man  suspiciously,  and  never  left  him  till  the  valise  was 
safely  home. 

Once  only  was  Sport  disobedient.  He  was  subjected 
to  a  temptation  too  great  for  even  his  great  dog  heart. 
"We  had  sailed  across  and  down  the  river  in  a  large 
yacht ;  when  anchoring,  we  took  a  small  skiff  to  hunt 
in  the  reeds  for  ducks,  bidding  Sport  remain  on  the 
yacht  and  keep  watch.     We  were  gone  about  an  hour, 


MY   DOG   "  SPORT."  175 

had  fired  a  few  shots,  then  returned  to  the  yaclit.  But 
Sport  was  not  there.  We  called  him,  whistled  for  him, 
fired  our  guns,  but  in  vain.  We  spent  hours  seeking 
for  him  among  the  reeds.  Fruitless  search  1  He  was 
not  there.  We  thought  him  lost  to  us  forever,  and 
with  sad  hearts  at  nightfall  returned  home.  But 
Sport  was  ahead  of  us.  He  was  lying  on  the  grass 
at  the  landing,  waiting ;  but  too  weary  to  rise  even. 
He  could  only  wag  his  tail,  and  that  faintly. 

We  saw  at  once  what  the  matter  was.  He  had 
heard  the  shooting  while  on  the  yacht,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment of  excitement  had  forgotten  the  command  to 
stay,  and  jumped  into  the  water.  Not  being  able  to 
swim  through  the  reeds  to  us,  he  returned  to  the 
yacht ;  but  the  sides  were  too  high  for  him  to  climb 
up.  After,  probably,  many  fruitless  efibrts,  he  started 
for  home  on  the  side  of  the  river — a  long  swim  against 
the  current ;  but  he  accomplished  it.  It  cost  him 
dearly,  though.  He  grew  quite  deaf,  and  lost  his 
ambition  from  that  day. 

Soon  afterwards  he  was  walking  on  the  railroad, 
and,  unable  to  hear  an  approaching  train,  he  was  run 
over  and  killed.  How  sad  Ave  were  !  I  felt  tliat  I 
had  lost  a  friend  to  whom  I  was  all  the  world.  I 
wonder  sometimes  if  there  is  no  after-life  for  one  like 
him.  The  line  between  his  instinct  and  a  soul's  in- 
telligence was  very  faint.  The  depth  of  his  afiection 
was  wonderful.  Poor  dear  Sport !  Would  that  my 
arms  were  around  thy  neck,  and  thy  soft  silken  ears 
were  resting  on  my  cheek  now  1  Thy  place  can  never 
be  rillea..  j^^^^  thomas  street. 


176        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


SCIPIO   TO   THE   SENATE. 

[Scipio  the  Great,  when  his  brother  was  accused  of  peculation, 
•witli  some  suspicion  of  his  own  complicity,  tore  in  pieces  the  ac- 
counts which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  Hung  them  down  before  the 
senate,  refusing  to  put  his  honor  in  question.] 

QUESTIONED  in  trust  and  honor,  I  could  speak, 
Nor  aught  that  lionor  might  disclose  would  spare  ; 
'*^Q,ucstioiied  in  doubt,  excusing  words  were  weak 
And  coward  breaths,  to  shame  their  kindred  air. 

Ye  that  can  doubt  me,  pass  in  silence  by ; 

Bury  my  name,  nor  greet  me  with  a  word  ! 
My  truth  is  deaf  to  challenge  of  a  lie  ; 

Not  with  that  champion  does  it  cross  the  sword. 

Have  I,  then,  lived  among  you  all  these  years 
A  dubious  phantom,  true  or  false  unknown  ? 

And  ye,  forsooth  !  would  have  to  lay  your  fears 
My  doubted  faith  by  proof  of  parchment  shown  ? 

Never  from  me  !     I  tear  the  proofs  to  shreds, 
And  strew  them  here  upon  the  senate  floor  ; 

Yc  that  know  not  a  man,  rjo  make  your  beds 

Upon  your  thorniest  thoughts  ;  vex  me  no  more 

0,  yc  could  trust  mo  in  your  hour  of  need, 

When  the  grim  foe  was  menacing  your  gates ; 

But  saved  your  rude  suspicion  for  your  meed, 
When  1  had  made  you  master  of  your  fates. 

Asked  yo  for  parchments  when  the  power  of  Rome 
To  foreign  shores  I  led  in  stern  array  ? 

Culled  ye  for  parchments  when,  returning  home, 
1  brought  you  victory,  beauteous  as  the  day  ? 


KING   ROBERT   OF   SICILY.  177 

Your  fate,  as  my  sword's  liilt,  was  in  my  hand  ; 

1  came  a  cimqueror,  l)ut  bent  tlic  knee, 
By  faith  subdued,  and  lowly  to  my  land 

Gave  that  in  poioer,  that  came  in  want  to  me. 

And  now  in  power,  behold,  ye  come  to  say, 

Ilast  thou  not  filched  our  coins  ?   Speak,  ^ive  us  proof. 

Nay,  pawn  your  doubt  to  win  another,  play 
Your  game  of  question  :  proud,  I  stand  aloof. 

There  !  gather  up  these  fragments,  if  ye  will. 

And  mouse  among  them, — pore,  compare,  and  scan. 

When  of  that  labor  ye  have  had  your  fill. 
Go,  learn  the  art  of  arts  —  to  know  a  man  ! 

1).  A.  Wassos. 


KING   ROBERT   OF   SICILY. 

ROBERT  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane, 
And  Vahnond,  emjieror  of  Allemaine, 
Apparelled  in  magnificent  attire, 
AVith  retinue  of  many  a  knight  and  squire, 
On  St.  John's  eve,  at  vespers,  proudly  sat 
And  heard  the  priests  chant  the  ^Magnificat. 
And  as  he  listened,  o'er  and  o'er  again 
Repeated,  like  a  burden  or  refrain. 
He  caught  the  words,  "  Deposuit  polentes 
De  sede,  el  exallavil  humiles  ;  " 
And  slowly  lifting  up  his  kingly  head, 
He  to  a  learned  clerk  beside  him  said, 
"  What  mean  these  words  ?  "     The  clerk  made  answer 

meet, 
"  lie  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat, 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree." 
Thereat  King  Robert  muttered  scornfully, 
"  'Tis  well  that  such  seditious  words  are  sung 
Only  by  priests,  and  in  the  Latin  tongue  ; 
12 


178  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

For  unto  priests  and  people  be  it  known, 
There  is  no  power  can  pusli  me  from  my  throne  !  " 
And  leaning'  back,  ho  j-awncd  and  fell  asleep, 
Lulled  by  tlie  chant  monotonous  and  deep. 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  already  iifght ; 

The  church  was  cmpt3'',  and  there  was  no  light. 

Save  where  the  lamps  that  glimmered,  few  and  faint, 

Lighted  a  little  space  before  some  saint. 

lie  started  from  his  seat  and  gazed  around. 

But  saw  no  living  thing,  and  heard  no  sound. 

He  groped  towards  the  door,  but  it  was  locked  ; 

lie  cried  aloud,  and  listened,  and  then  knocked. 

And  uttered  awful  thrcateuings,  and  complaints, 

And  imprecations  upon  men  and  saints. 

The  sounds  re-echoed  from  the  roof  and  walls, 

As  if  dead  i^riests  were  laughing  in  their  stalls. 

At  length  the  sexton,  hearing  from  without 
The  tumult  of  the  knocking  and  the  shout. 
And  thinking  thieves  were  in  the  house  of  prayer. 
Came  witli  liis  lanterji,  asking,  "  AVho  is  there  ?  " 
Half  choked  with  rage.  King  Robert  fiercely  said, 
"  Open  ;  'tis  I,  the  king  I     Art  thou  afraid  ?  " 
The  frightened  sexton,  muttering  with  a  ciirse, 
"  This  is  some  drunken  vagabond,  or  worse," 
Turned  the  great  key,  and  flung  the  portal  wide  ; 
A  man  rushed  by  him  at  a  single  stride, 
Haggard,  half  naked,  without  Iiat  or  cloak, 
Who  neither  turned,  nor  looked  at  him,  nor  spoke, 
IJut  leaped  into  the  blackness  of  the  night, 
And  vanished  like  a  spectre  from  his  sight. 

Robert  of  Sicily,  brother  of  Pope  Urbane, 
And  Valmond,  emperor  of  Allemaine, 
Despoiled  of  his  magnificent  attire, 
Bare-headed,  breathless,  and  besprent  with  mire. 
With  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage  desperate, 


KING    ROBERT   OF   SICILY.  170 

Strode  on  and  thundered  at  the  palace  gate  ; 

Kusliod  tlirougli  the  court-yard,  tlirustiug,  in  his  rage, 

To  right  and  left  each  seneschal  and  page, 

And  hurried  up  tlie  broad  and  sounding  stair. 

His  wliite  face  ghastly  in  the  torches'  glare. 

From  hall  to  hall  lie  ])assed  with  breathless  speed  ; 

Voices  and  cries  he  heard,  but  did  not  heed, 

Until  at  last  he  reached  the  banquet-room. 

Blazing  with  light,  and  breathing  with  perfume. 

There  on  the  dais  sat  another  King, 
Wearing  his  robes,  his  crown,  his  signet-ring, 
King  Robert's  self  in  features,  form,  and  height, 
But  all  transfigured  with  angelic  light ! 
It  was  an  angel  ;  and  his  presence  there 
With  a  divine  effulgence  filled  the  air, 
An  exaltation  piercing  the  disguise, 
Though  none  the  hidden  angel  recognize. 

A  moment  speechless,  motionless,  amazed, 

The  throneless  monarch  on  the  angel  gazed, 

Who  met  his  looks  of  anger  and  surprise 

Witli  the  divine  compassion  of  his  eyes  ; 

Then  sajd,  "  Who  art  thou?  and  why  cam'stthou  here  ?  " 

To  which  King  Robert  answered,  wi,th  a  sneer, 

"  I  am  the  king,  and  come  to  claim  my  own 

From  an  impostor,  who  usurps  my  throne  !  " 

And  suddenly,  at  tliese  audacious  words. 

Up  sprang  the  angry  guests,  and  drew  their  swords  ; 

The  angel  answered,  with  unruffled  brow, 

"Nay,  not  the  king,  but  the  king's  jester  ;  thou 

Ilenccforth  shalt  wear  the  bells  and  scallopeil  cape, 

And  for  thy  counsellor  shall  lead  an  ape  ; 

Thou  shalt  obey  my  servants  when  they  call, 

And  wait  upon  my  henchmen  in  the  hall  !  " 

Deaf  to  King  Robert's  threats,  and  cries,  and  prayers. 
They  thrust  him  from  the  hall,  and  down  the  stairs  ; 


180  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

A  gcroup  of  titterinf]^  pages  ran  before, 

And  as  they  opened  wide  the  folding-door, 

His  lieart  faik'd,  for  lie  heard,  Avith  strange  alarms. 

The  boisterous  laughter  of  tiie  nien-at-anns, 

And  all  the  vaulted  chamber  roar  and  ring 

With  the  mock  plaudits  of  "  Long  live  the  King !  " 

Next  morning,  waking  with  the  day's  first  beam, 
He  said  within  himself,  "  It  was  a  dream  !  " 
But  the  straw  rustled  as  he  turned  his  head  ; 
There  were  the  cap  and  bells  beside  his  bed  ; 
Around  him  rose  the  bare,  discolored  walls  ; 
Close  by,  the  steeds  were  champing  in  their  stalls. 
And  in  the  corner,  a  revolting  shape, 
Shivering  and  chattering,  sat  the  wretched  ape. 
It  was  no  dream  ;   the  world  he  loved  so  much 
Had  turned  to  dust  and  ashes  at  his  touch  1 

Days  came  and  went ;  and  now  returned  again 
To  Sicily  the  old  Saturnian  reign  ; 
Under  tlie  angel's  governance  benign 
The  happy  island  danced  with  corn  and  wine, 
And  deep  within  the  mountain's  burning  bieast 
Enceladus,  the  giant,  was  at  rest. 
Meanwhile  King  Robert  yielded  to  his  fate, 
Sullen,  and  silent,  and  disconsolate. 
l)rcssed  in  the  motley  garb  that  jesters  wear, 
With  looks  bewildered  and  a  vacant  stare, 
Close  shaven  above  the  ears,  as  monks  are  shorn, 
]iy  courtiers  mocked,  by  pages  laughed  to  scorn, 
His  only  friend  the  ape,  liis  only  food 
What  others  left,  —  he  still  was  unsubdued. 
And  when  the  angel  met  him  on  his  way. 
And  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest,  would  say, 
Sternly,  though  tend<;rly,  that  he  might  feel 
Tlie  velvet  scabbard  held  a  sword  of  steel, 
"  Art  thou  the  king  ?  "  the  passion  of  his  woe 
Burst  from  him  in  resistless  overflow, 


KING    ROBERT   OF   SICILY.  181 

And  liftinji;-  liig-h  his  forehead,  ho  wouM  flinp^ 

Tlie  haug-lity  answer  back,  "  I  am,  I  am  the  king  !  " 

Almost  three  years  wore  ended,  when  there  came 

Ambassadors  of  great  repute  and  name 

From  Valmond,  emperor  of  Allemaino, 

Unto  King-  Robert,  saying  that  J'upe  L'rbane, 

By  letter  summoned  thrin  forthwith  to  come 

On  Holy  Thursday  to  his  city  of  Rome, 

The  angel  with  great  joy  received  his  guests. 

And  gave  them  presents  of  embroidered  vests. 

And  velvet  mantles  with  rich  ermine  lined. 

And  rings  and  jewels  of  the  rarest  kind. 

Then  he  departed  with  them  o'er  the  sea, 

Into  the  lovely  land  of  Italy, 

Whose  loveliness  was  more  resplendent  made 

By  the  mere  passing  of  that  cavalcade, 

Witli  plumes,  and  cloaks,  and  housings,  and  the  stir 

Of  jewelled  bridle  and  of  golden  spur. 

And  lo  !  among  the  menials,  in  mock  state. 

Upon  a  piebald  steed,  with  shambling  gait, 

His  cloak  of  fox-tails  flapping  in  the  wind, 

The  solemn  ape  demurely  perched  behind, 

King  Robert  rode,  making  huge  merriment 

In  all  the  country  towns  through  which  they  went. 

The  pope  received  them  with  great  pomp,  and  blare 

Of  bannered  trumpets,  on  St.  Peter's  square. 

Giving  his  benediction  and  embrace. 

Fervent,  and  full  of  apostolic  grace. 

While  with  congratulations  and  with  prayers, 

He  entertained  the  angel  unawares, 

Robert,  the  jester,  bursting  through  the  crowd. 

Into  their  presence  rushed,  and  cried  aloud, 

"  I  am  the  king  !     Look  and  behold  in  me 

Robert,  your  brother,  King  of  Sicily  ! 

This  man,  who  wears  my  semblance  to  your  eyes. 

Is  an  impostor  in  a  king's  disguise. 


182  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Do  you  not  know  me  ?  does  no  voice  within 
Answer  my  cry,  and  say  we  are  akin  ?  " 
The  pope  in  silence,  but  with  troubled  mien, 
Gazed  at  the  ang-el's  countQuance  serene  ; 
The  emperor,  hiughing,  said,  "It  is  strange  sport 
Tt)  kec'i)  a  madman  for  thy  fool  at  court  1  " 
And  tlie  poor  baffled  jester  in  disgrace 
"Was  hustled  back  among  the  populace. 

In  solemn  state  the  holy  week  went  by, 

And  Easter  Sunday  gleamed  upon  the  sky ; 

The  presence  of  an  angel,  with  its  light, 

Before  the  sun  rose,  made  the  city  bright. 

And  with  new  fervor  filled  the  hearts  of  men. 

Who  felt  that  Christ  indeed  had  risen  again  ; 

Even  the  jester,  on  his  bed  of  straw. 

With  haggard  eyes  the  unwonted  splendor  saw ; 

He  felt  within  a  power  unfelt  before, 

And,  kneeling  humbly  on  his  chamber  floor. 

He  heard  the  rushing  garments  of  the  Lord 

Sweep  through  the  silent  air,  ascending  heavenward. 

And  now  tlie  visit  ending,  and  once  more 

ValriKJiid  returning  to  the  Danube's  shore, 

Homeward  the  angel  journeyed,  and  again 

The  land  was  made  resplendent  with  his  train, 

Flashing  along  the  towns  of  Italy 

Unto  Salerno,  and  from  there  by  sea. 

And  when  once  more  within  Palermo's  wall, 

And  seated  on  his  throne  in  his  great  hall, 

lie  heard  the  Aiigelus  from  convent  towers, 

Ah  if  the  bettor  world  conversed  with  ours, 

lie  beckoned  to  King  Robert  to  draw  nigher, 

And  with  a  gesture  bade  the  rest  retire  ; 

And  when  they  were  alone,  the  angel  said, 

"  Art  thou  the  king  ?  "     Then  bowing  down  his  head, 

King  Iiob(;rt  croHsed  both  hands  up(jn  his  breast, 

And  meekly  answered  him,  "  Thou  knowest  best  1 


OUR   FATHERS.  183 

My  sins  as  scarlet  arc  ;  let  me  go  hence, 
And  in  some  cloister's  school  of  penitence, 
Across  those  stones  that  pave  the  way  to  heaven 
Walk  barcl'oot,  till  my  guilty  soul  is  shriven." 
Tiie  angel  smiled,  and  from  his  radiant  face 
A  holy  light  illumined  all  the  place, 
And  through  the  o})eu  window,  loud  and  clear. 
They  heard  tlic  monks  chant  in  the  cliapel  near. 
Above  the  stir  and  tumult  of  the  street,  — 
"  lie  has  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seat. 
And  has  exalted  them  of  low  degree  !  " 
And  through  the  chant  a  second  melody 
Rose  like  the  throbbing  of  a  single  string,  — 
"  I  am  an  angel,  and  thou  art  the  king  !  " 

King  Robert,  who  was  standing  near  the  throne, 

Lifted  his  eyes,  and  lo  !  he  was  alone  ! 

But  all  apparelled  as  in  days  of  old, 

With  ermined  mantle,  and  with  cloth  of  gold  ; 

And  when  his  courtiers  came,  tliey  Ibund  him  there 

Kneeling  upon  the  floor,  absorbed  in  silent  prayer. 


OUR  FATHERS. 

OMANY  a  time  it  hath  been  told, 
,     The  story  of  those  men  of  old. 
For  this  fair  Poetry  hath  wreathed 

Her  sweetest,  purest  flower  ; 
For  this  proud  Eloquence  liatli  breathed 

His  strain  of  loftiest  power  ; 
Devotion,  too,  hath  lingered  round 
Each  spot  of  consecrated  ground, 

And  hill  and  valley  blessed  ; 
There,  where  our  banished  fathers  strayed, 
There,  where  they  loved,  and  wept,  and  prayed. 

There,  where  their  ashes  rest. 


184  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  never  may  they  rest  unsung-, 
While  Liberty  can  find  a  tongue. 
Twine,  Gratitude,  a  wreath  for  them 
More  deathless  than  the  diadem. 
Who,  to  life's  noblest  end. 

Gave  up  life's  noblest  powers. 
And  bade  the  legacy  descend 

Down,  down  to  us  and  ours. 

By  centuries  now  the  glorious  hour  we  mark, 

"When  to  these  shores  they  steered  their  shattered  bark ; 

And  still,  as  other  centuries  melt  away, 

Shall  other  ages  come  to  keep  the  day. 

^V]len  we  arc  dust,  who  gather  round  this  spot, 

Our  joys,  our  griefs,  our  very  names  forgot, 

Here  shall  the  dwellers  of  the  land  be  seen. 

To  keep  the  memory  of  the  Pilgrims  green. 

Nor  here  alone  their  praises  shall  go  round, 

Nor  here  alone  their  virtues  shall  abound  — 

Broad  as  the  empire  of  the  free  shall  spread, 

Far  as  the  foot  of  man  shall  dare  to  tread, 

AVhere  oar  hath  never  dipped,  where  human  tongue 

Hath  never  through  the  woods  of  ages  rung, 

There,  where  tlie  eagle's  scream  and  wild  wolf's  cry 

Keep  ceaseless  day  and  night  through  earth  and  sky. 

Even  there,  in  after  time,  as  toil  and  taste 

Go  forth  in  gladness  to  redeem  the  waste. 

Even  there  shall  rise,  as  grateful  myriads  throng. 

Faith's  holy  prayer,  and  Freedom's  joyful  song; 

There  shall  the  flame  that  flashed  from  yonder  Kock, 

Light  up  the  land,  till  Nature's  final  shock. 

Charles  Sprague. 


MOTIVES    OP   ACTION.  185 


MOTIVES   OF  ACTION. 

IT  has  been  said  by  a  noble  lord,  that  I  am  running 
the  race  of  popularity.  If  the  noble  lord  means 
by  popularity,  that  applause  bestowed  by  after  ages 
on  good  and  virtuous  actions,  I  have  long  been  strug- 
gling in  that  race  ;  to  what  purpose,  all-trying  Time 
can  alone  determine.  But  if  the  noble  lord  means 
that  mushroom  popularity  that  is  raised  without  merit, 
and  lost  without  crime,  he  is  much  mistaken  in  his 
opinion. 

I  defy  the  noble  lord  to  point  out  a  single  instance 
in  my  life  where  the  popularity  of  the  times  ever 
had  the  smallest  influence  on  my  determinations.  I 
thank  Heaven  I  have  a  more  permanent  and  steady 
rule  of  conduct  —  the  dictates  of  my  own  breast. 

Those  that  have  foregone  that  pleasing  adviser,  and 
given  up  their  mind  to  be  the  slave  of  every  popular 
impulse,  I  sincerely  pity ;  I  pity  them  still  more,  if 
their  vanity  leads  them  to  mistake  the  shouts  of  a  mob 
for  the  trumpet  of  fame.  Experience  might  inform 
them  that  many  who  have  been  saluted  with  the  huz- 
zas of  the  crowd  one  day,  have  received  their  execra- 
tions the  next ;  and  many,  who,  by  the  popularity  of 
their  times,  have  been  held  up  as  spotless  patriots, 
have,  nevertheless,  appeared  upon  the  historian's  page, 
when  truth  has  triumphed  over  delusion,  the  assassins 
of  liberty. 

True  liberty,  in  my  opinion,  can  only  exist  when 
Justice  is  equally  administered  to  all  —  to  the  king 
and  to  the  beggar.  Where  is  the  justice,  then,  or 
where  is  the  law,  that  protects  a  member  of  Parlia- 


18G  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

ment,  more  than  any  other  man,  from  the  punishment 
due  to  his  crimes  ?  The  laws  of  this  country  allow 
of  no  place,  nor  no  employment,  to  be  a  sanctuary  for 
crimes ;  and  where  I  have  the  honor  to  sit  as  judge, 
neither  royal  favor  nor  popular  applause  shall  ever 
protect  the  guilty.  lord  mansfield. 


IF  I  WERE  A  VOICE. 

IF  I  Avere  a  Voice,  —  a  persuasive  Voice,  — 
That  could  travel  the  wide  world  through, 
I  would  fly  on  the  beams  of  the  morning  light, 
And  speak  to  men  with  a  gentle  might, 

And  tell  them  to  be  true. 
I'd  fly,  I'd  fly  o'er  land  and  sea. 
Wherever  a  Imrnan' heart  might  be, 
Telling  a  talc,  or  singing  a  song, 
lu  praise  of  the  Right — in  blame  of  the  Wrong. 

If  I  were  a  Voice,  —  a  consoling  Voice,  — 

I'd  fly  on  the  wings  of  air  ; 
The  homes  of  Sorrow  and  Guilt  I'd  seek, 
And  calm  and  truthful  words  I'd  speak, 

To  save  them  from  Despair. 
I'd  fly,  I'd  fly  o'er  the  crowded  town, 
And  drop,  like  the  happy  sunlight,  down 
Into  the  hearts  of  Bun<;ririg  men. 
And  teach  them  to  rejoice  again. 

If  I  were  a  Voice,  —  a  convincing  Voice,  — 

I'd  travel  with  the  wind  ; 
And  whenever  T  saw  the  nations  torn 
By  warfare,  jealousy,  or  scorn, 

Or  hatred  of  their  kind, 


THE  SONG   OF  STEAM.  187 

I'd  fly,  I'd  fly  on  the  thunder-crash, 
And  into  tlicir  blinded  bosoms  flash  ; 
And  all  their  evil  thoughts  subdued, 
I'd  teach  them  Christian  Brotherhood. 

If  I  were  a  Voice,  —  a  pervading  Voice,  — 

I'd  seek  the  kings  of"  earth  ; 
I'd  find  them  alone  on  their  beds  at  night, 
And  whisper  words  that  should  guide  them  right — 

Lessons  of  priceless  worth. 
I'd  fly  more  swiit  than  the  swiftest  bird. 
And  tell  them  things  they  never  heard  — 
Truths  which  the  ages  for  aye  repeat, 
Unknown  to  the  statesmen  at  their  feet. 

If  I  were  a  Voice,  —  an  immortal  Voice,  — 

I'd  speak  in  the  people's  ear  ; 
And  whenever  they  shouted  "  Liberty," 
Without  deserving  to  be  free, 

I'd  make  their  error  clear. 
I'd  fly,  I'd  fly  on  the  wings  of  day, 
Eebuking  wrong  on  my  world-wide  way, 
And  making  all  the  earth  rejoice  — 
If  I  were  a  Voice  —  an  immortal  Voice. 

Charles  Mackat. 


THE   SONG  OF   STEAM. 

HARNESS  me  down  with  your  iron  bands  ; 
Be  sure  of  your  curb  and  rein  ; 
For  I  scorn  the  power  of  your  puny  hands 

As  the  tempest  scorns  a  chain. 
How  I  laughed,  as  I  lay  concealed  from  sight 

For  many  a  countless  hour. 
At  the  childish  boast  of  human  might, 
And  the  pride  of  human  power  ! 


188  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !    They  found  me  at  last ; 

They  invited  me  forth  at  length, 
And  I  rushed  to  my  throne  with  thunder-blast, 

And  laug-hcd  in  my  iron  strength. 

0  !  tlien  ye  saw  a  wondrous  change   • 
On  the  earth  and  ocean  wide, 

"Where  now  my  fiery  armies  range, 
Nor  wait  for  wind  or  tide. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !    The  waters  o'er 

The  mountains  steep  decline  ; 
Time — space  —  have  yielded  to  my  power — 

The  world  I  the  world  is  mine  I 
The  rivers  the  sun  hath  earliest  blest, 

Or  those  where  his  beams  decline. 
The  giant  streams  of  the  queenly  West, 

Or  the  Orient  floods  divine. 

1  blow  the  bellows,  I  forge  the  steel. 

In  all  the  shops  of  trade  ; 
I  hammer  the  ore,  and  turn  the  wheel, 

Where  my  arms  of  strength  are  made  ; 
I  manage  the  furnace,  the  mill,  the  mint ; 

I  carry,  I  spin,  I  weave  ; 
And  all  my  doings  I  put  into  print 

On  every  Saturday  eve. 

I've  no  muscle  to  weary,  no  breast  to  decay. 

No  bones  to  be  "  laid  on  the  shelf;  " 
And  soon  I  intend  you  may  "  go  and  play," 

While  I  manage  the  world  by  myself 
But  harness  me  down  with  your  iron  bands  ; 

Be  sure  of  your  curb  and  rein  ; 
For  I  scorn  the  strength  of  your  puny  hands. 

As  the  tempest  scorns  a  chain. 


THE   WKECK    OF   THE    HESPERUS.  189 


THE   WRECK   OF   THE   HESPERUS. 

IT  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 
That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  ; 
And  tlie  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 
To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy  flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds, 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  — 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 
["hen  leaped  her  cable's  length. 


T} 


"Come  hither!  come  hither!  my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so. 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
Ho  cut  a  ro])e  from  a  broken  spar. 
And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"0,  father  !   I  hear  the  church  bells  ring; 

0,  say,  what  may  it  bo  ?  " 
"  'Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  "  — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  0,  father  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns  ; 

0,  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea  I " 

"  G,  father  !  I  see  a  gleaming  light  ; 
0,  say,  what  may  it  be  '{  " 


190  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

But  tlie  fatlicr  answered,  never  a  word,  — 
A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands,  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  miglit  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  wave 

On  the  lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
,     Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

To  the  rocks  and  breakers  right  ahead 

She  drifted,  a  dreary  wreck. 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool. 
But  the  cruel  rocks  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast. 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 
In  the  midnight  and  the  snow  — 

Christ  save  us  i'rom  u  death  like  this. 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 

Longfellow. 


A   GRECIAN   FABLE.  191 


A  GRECIAN  FABLE. 

OXCE  on  a  time,  a  son  and  sire,  we're  told,  — 
The  stripling  tender  and  the  father  old,  — 
Purchased  a  donkey  at  a  country  fair, 
To  ease  their  limbs,  and  hawk  about  their  ware ; 
But  as  the  slugg'ish  animal  was  weak. 
They  feared,  if  both  should  mount,  his  back  would  break. 
Up  got  the  boy  ;  the  father  plods  on  foot. 
And  through  the  gazing  crowd  he  leads  the  brute  ; 
Forth  from  the  crowd  the  graybeards  hobble  out. 
And  hail  the  cavalcade  with  feeble  shout : 
"  This  the  respect  to  feeble  age  you  show  ? 
And  this  the  duty  you  to  parents  owe  ? 
He  beats  the  hoof,  and  you  are  set  astride  ; 
Sirrah  !  get  down,  and  let  your  father  ride  ! " 

As  Grecian  lads  were  seldom  void  of  grace, 
The  decent,  duteous  youth  resigned  his  place. 
Then  a  fresh  murmur  through  the  rabble  ran  ; 
Boys,  girls,  wives,  widows,  all  attack  the  man  : 
"  Sure  ne'er  was  brute  so  void  of  nature  ! 
Have  you' no  pity  for  the  pretty  creature  ? 
To  your  young  child  can  you  be  so  unkind  ? 
Here,  Luke,  Bill,  Betty,  put  the  child  behind  ! " 
Old  Dapple  next  the  clowns'  compassion  claimed  : 
"  'Tis  strange  those  boobies  are  not  quite  ashamed  ! 
Two  at  a  time  upon  a  poor  dumb  beast ! 
They  might  as  well  have  carried  him,  at  least." 
The  pair,  still  pliant  to  the  partial  voice, 
Dismount  and  bear  the  brute.      Then  what  a  noise  ! 
Huzzas,  loud  laughs,  low  gibe,  and  bitter  joke, 
From  the  yet  silent  sire  these  words  provoke  : 
"  Proceed,  my  boy,  nor  heed  their  further  call ; 
Vain  his  attempt  who  strives  to  please  them  all  ! " 


192  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

THE   COMING  WOMAN. 

A   DIALOGUE   FOR   GIRLS. 

First  Voice. 

^TOBODY  knows  how  I  want  to  grow, 
\    How  I  count  the  days  as  tliey  conic  and  go, 
Wisliing  and  wisliing  that  time  had  wings  ; 
For  Pvo  made  up  my  mind  to  do  great  things 

AVhen  I'm  a  woman  ! 
I  won't  be  dull,  and  faded,  and  gray, 
And  drudge  in  the  household  from  day  to  day. 

Like  some  of  the  women  I  know  ; 
But  I  mean  to  grow  fresher  every  year. 
And  I'll  be  so  smart  that  the  people  here 

Shall  ask  how  I  manage  so. 

Second  Voice. 

When  7'm  a  woman  I  mean  to  show 
What  wonderful  things  a  woman  can  know  — 
I'll  know  French  and  German  to  write  and  speak. 
And  I'll  read  all  those  funny  old  books  in  Greek, 

Besides  what  there  are  in  Latin. 
I'll  learn  all  about  what  they  call  "  High  Art ;  " 
I'll  have  the  Philosophy  quite  by  heart, 

And  Trigonometry,  too. 
I  won't  take  a  minute  to  work  or  play, 
But  I'll  study  by  night,  and  I'll  study  by  day, 

To  show  what  a  woman  can  do  1 

Third  Voice. 

A  writer  7 '11  be,  and  I'll  engage 
To  write  not  a  single  stupid  page  ; 
But  fujiny  short  stories  for  girls  and  boys. 
And  songs  to  bo  sung  with  a  good  deal  (;f  noise, 
And  marvellous  fairy  tales. 


THE   COMING   WOMAN,  193 

I  know  all  the  children  -will  buy  my  books, 
And  I'll  write  some,  too,  for  the  older  folks, 

For  the  newspapers  first,  I  guess  ; 
Letters,  perhaps,  from  over  the  sea, 
To  tell  the  strange  things  that  have  happened  to  me, 

And  how  the  queer  people  dress. 

Fourth  Voice. 

Such  a  famous  housekeeper  /will  be, 
That  all  the  ladies  will  call  to  see 
How  I  ever  make  such  beautiful  bread  ! 
For  all  my  household  shall  be  well  fed 

When  I'm  a  woman. 
0,  the  sweetest  jellies  and  cream  I'll  make, 
And  of  daintiest  puddings,  and  pies,  and  cake, 

I  will  always  have  great  store  ; 
My  kitchen-floor  shall  be  snowy  white, 
And  everything  else  shall  be  just  right 

That  you  find  inside  my  door. 

Fifth  Voice. 

/'ll  be  a  lecturer,  travelling  about. 

When  it  isn't  too  stormy  for  men  to  get  out ; 

I'll  show  them  their  sphere,  and  the  women's,  too. 

And  tell  the  young  girls  what  they  ought  to  do 

When  iheij  are  women. 
I'll  let  people  see  why  the  world  goes  wrong, 
And  make  them  all  hope  that  it  won't  be  long 

Till  women  can  have  their  way. 
Freedom  to  lecture,  to  vote,  to  preach, 
To  do  everything  now  beyond  our  reach, 

We  surely  will  have  some  day  ! 

Sixth  Voice. 

/'ll  be  a  milliner,  wrapped  in  a  cloud 
Of  laces  and  ribbons,  and  sought  by  a  crowd 
13 


194        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Of  beautiful  ladies  in  velvet  and  pearls, 

Who  want  exquisite  huts  for  their  dear  little  girls, 

In  the  style  just  fresh  from  Paris  ! 
Such  ravishing  bonnets  as  I'll  invent 
Have  never  been  seen  on  this  continent  1 

And,  for  customers  to  prepare  them, 
I'll  have  dozens  of  girls  sewing  night  and  day, 
For  fear  the  new  fashion  will  grow  passe 

Before  folks  get  a  chance  to  wear  them. 

Seventh  Voice. 

When  7'm  a  woman,  a  teacher  I'll  be, 
But  I  liope  I  slian't  have  much  company  ; 
O,  if  committees  could  only  know 
llow  glad  we  are  when  they  rise  to  go  ! 

When  I'm  a  woman 
I  expect  that  teachers  will  have  great  pay. 
And  they  won't  work  more  than  three  hours  a  day, 

And  vacations  will  be  so  long  ! 
And  I'll  caution  my  scholars  to  take  great  care 
To  study  no  more  than  their  health  will  bear, 

For  that  would  be  very  Avrong. 

All. 

When  we  are  women,  you  then  will  see 
The  useful  things  that  women  can  be  ; 
And  though  each  of  us  in  her  own  way  tries, 
AVe  can  all  be  liappy,  and  good,  and  wise, 

When  we  are  women. 
But  perhaps  it  is  true  that  time  has  wings, 
And,  if  we  would  do  all  these  wonderful  things. 

We  must  lose  not  a  single  day. 
If  our  plans  should  go  wrong,  we'll  have  courage  still, 
For  we  think  that  somehow,  where  we've  a  will, 

We  shall  always  find  a  way  I 

Christian  Union. 


TUE   AFFRAY   IN   KING   STREET,    BOSTON.  195 


THE  AFFRAY  IN  KING  STREET,  BOSTON,  1770. 

SOON  after  the  French  war,  which  closed  in  1763, 
the  king  and  Parliament  of  Great  Britain  began  to 
treat  the  colonies  very  unjustly.  The  British  govern- 
ment, being  very  much  in  debt,  wanted  to  raise  large 
sums  of  money,  and  so  determined  to  get  a  part  of  it 
by  taxing  the  Americans.  Now,  the  latter  maintained 
that  England  had  no  right  to  tax  them. 

The  people  of  Boston  were  particularly  excited ; 
and  fearing  rebellion.  General  Gage,  the  British  com- 
mander, assembled  two  regiments  of  soldiers  to  keep 
them  in  awe.  In  the  spring  of  1770,  quarrels  occurred 
almost  every  day  between  the  soldiers  and  the  pop- 
ulace. 

A  great  tumult  broke  out,  between  seven  and  eight 
o'clock,  on  the  evening  of  the  5th  of  March.  The 
mob,  armed  with  clubs,  ran  towards  King  Street,  now 
State  Street,  crying,  "  Let  us  drive  out  these  rascals  ! 
They  have  no  business  here!  Drive  them  out!  Drive 
out  the  rascals  !  " 

About  this  time,  some  one  cried  out  that  the  town 
had  been  set  on  fire.  Then  the  bells  rang,  and  the 
crowd  became  greater  and  more  noisy.  They  rushed 
furiously  to  the  custom-house,  and.  seeing  an  English 
soldier  stationed  there,  shouted,  "Kill  him  !  kill  him  !  " 
The  people  attacked  him  with  snowballs,  pieces  of  ice, 
and  Avhatever  they  could  find. 

The  sentinel  called  for  the  guard,  and  Captain  Pres- 
ton sent  a  corporal  with  a  few  soldiers  to  defend  him. 
They  marched  with  their  guns  loaded,  and  the  captain 


196  YomsG  folks'  readings. 

followed  them.  They  met  a  crowd  of  the  people,  led 
on  by  a  giant  of  a  negro,  named  Attucks.  They 
brandished  their  clubs,  and  pelted  the  soldiers  with 
snowballs,  abused  them  with  all  manner  of  harsh 
words,  shouted  in  their  faces,  surrounded  them,  and 
challenged  them  to  fire. 

They  even  rushed  upon  the  points  of  the  bayonets. 
The  soldiers  stood  like-  statues,  the  bells  ringing,  and 
the  mob  pressing  upon  them.  At  last,  Attucks,  with 
twelve  of  his  men,  began  to  strike  upon  their  muskets 
with  clubs,  and  cried  out  to  the  multitude,  "  Don't  be 
afraid  !  They  dare  not  fire  —  the  miserable  cowards  I 
Kill  the  rascals  !     Crush  them  under  foot  I  " 

Attucks  lifted  his  arm  against  Captain  Preston,  and 
seized  upon  a  bayonet.  "They  dare  not  fire !"  shouted 
the  mob  again.  At  this  instant  the  firing  began.  The 
negro  dropped  dead  upon  the  ground.  The  soldiers 
fired  twice  more.  Three  men  were  killed,  and  others 
were  wounded.  The  mob  dispersed,  but  soon  returned 
to  carry  off  the  bodies. 

The  whole  town  was  now  in  an  uproar.  Thousands 
of  men,  women,  and  children  rushed  through  the 
streets.  The  sound  of  drums,  and  cries  of,  "  To  arms  I 
to  arms  !  "  were  heard  from  all  quarters.  The  soldiers 
who  had  fired  on  the  people  were  arrested,  and  the 
governor  at  last  persuaded  the  multitude  to  go  home 
quietly. 


TIT    FOR   TAT,  197 


TIT   FOR   TAT. 

A  MIGHTY  elephant,  that  swelled  the  state 
Of  Aurengzebe  the  Great, 
One  day  was  taken  by  his  driver 
To  druik  and  cool  Iiiin  in  the  river  ; 
Tiie  driver  on  his  neck  was  seated  ; 
And,  as  he  rode  along, 
By  some  acquaintance  in  the  throng'. 
With  a  ripe  cocoa-nut  was  treated. 

A  cocoa-nut's  a  pretty  fruit  enough. 

But  guarded  by  a  shell  both  hard  and  tough  ; 

The  fellow  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried, 

Working  and  sweating. 

Fuming  and  fretting. 
To  find  out  the  inside. 
And  pick  the  kernel  for  his  eating. 

At  length,  quite  out  of  patience  grown, 
"  Who'll  reach  me  up,"  he  cries,  "  a  stone, 

To  break  this  tough  old  shell  ? 
But  stay  ;  I've  here  a  solid  bone 

May  do  perhaps  as  well." 
So,  half  in  earnest,  half  in  jest, 
lie  banged  it  on  the  forehead  of  the  beast. 

An  elephant,  they  say,  has  human  feeling. 

And  full  as  well  as  we  he  knows 

The  difference  between  words  and  blows. 
Between  horse-play  and  civil  dealing  ; 
Use  him  but  well,  he'll  do  his  best 

To  serve  you  iaithfully  and  truly  ; 
But  insults  unprovoked  he  can't  digest , 

lie  studies  o'er  them,  and  repays  them  duly. 


198  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

To  make  my  head  an  anvil,  thought  the  creature, 

AVas  never,  certainly,  the  will  of  Nature  ; 

So,  master  mine,  you  may  repent ; 

Then  shaking  his  broad  ears,  away  he  went ; 

The  driver  took  him  to  the  water. 

And  thought  no  more  about  the  matter ; 

The  elephant  within  his  memory  hid  it  ; 

lie  felt  the  wrong,  the  other  only  did  it. 

A  week  or  two  elapsed ;  one  market  day. 
Again  the  beast  and  driver  took  their  way ; 
Through  rows  of  shops  and  booths  they  passed, 

AVitii  eatables  and  trinkets  stored. 
Till  to  a  gardener's  stall  they  came  at  last,  J^ 

Where  cocoa-nuts  lay  piled  upon  the  board. 
"  Ila  !  "  thought  the  elephant,  "  'tis  now  my  turn 

To  show  this  method  of  nut  breaking ; 
My  friend  above  will  like  to  learn. 

Though  at  the  cost  of  a  head-aching." 

Then  in  his  curling  trunk  he  took  a  heap, 

And  waved  it  o'er  his  neck  wnth  sudden  sweep. 

And  on  the  hapless  driver's  sconce 
lie  laid  a  blow,  so  hard  and  full, 

lie  cracked  the  nuts  at  once. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  cracked  the  poor  man's  skull. 

Young  folks,  whene'er  you  feel  inclined  . 

To  rompish  sports  and  freedom  rough, 
Bear  tit  for  tat  in  mind  ; 

Nor  give  an  elephant  a  cufF, 
To  be  repaid  in  kind. 


TO   WnOM   SHALL   WE   GIVE   THANKS?  199 


TO  WHOM  SHALL  WE   GIVE  THANKS? 

A  LITTLE  boy  had  sought  the  pump 
From  whence  the  sparkliug  water  burst, 
And  drank  with  eager  joy  the  draught 

That  kindly  quenched  his  raging  thirst. 
Then  gracefully  he  touched  his  cap  — 
"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Pump,"  he  said, 
"  For  this  nice  drink  you've  given  me  I' 
(This  little  boy  had  been  well  bred.) 


)f 


Then  said  the  Pump,  "  My  little  man, 

You're  welcome  to  what  I  have  done ; 
But  I  am  not  the  one  to  thank  — 

I  only  help  the  water  run." 
"  0,  then,"  the  little  fellow  said 

(Polite  he  always  meant  to  be), 
"  Cold  Water,  please  accept  my  thanks ; 

You  have  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Cold  Water,  "  don't  thank  me ; 

Far  up  the  hill-side  lives  the  Spring 
That  sends  me  forth  with  generous  hand 

To  gladden  every  living  thing." 
"  I'll  thank  the  Spring,  then,"  said  the  boy. 

And  gracefully  he  bowed  his  head. 
"  0,  don't  thank  me,  my  little  man," 

The  Spring  with  silvery  accents  said. 

"  0,  don't  thank  me  ;  for  what  am  I 

Without  the  dew  and  summer  rain  ? 
Without  their  aid  I  ne'er  could  quench 

Your  thirst,  my  little  boy,  again." 
"  0,  well,  then,"  said  the  little  b.iy, 

"  I'll  gladly  thank  the  Rain  and  Dew." 
"  Pray,  don't  thank  us  —  without  the  sua 

We  could  not  fill  one  cup  for  you." 


200  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Then,  I\rr.  Sun,  ten  thousand  thanks 

For  all  that  3'ou  have  done  for  me." 
"  Stop  ! "  said  the  Sun,  with  blushing  face  ; 

"  My  little  fellow,  don't  thauk  me  : 
'Twas  from  the  ocean's  mig-hty  stores 

I  drew  the  draught  I  gave  to  thee." 
"  0,  Ocean,  thanks,  then  !"  said  the  boy  — 

It  echoed  back,  "  Not  unto  me. 

"  Not  unto  me  ;  but  unto  Ilim 

Who  formed  the  depths  in  wliich  I  lie  ; 
Go,  give  thy  thanks,  my  little  boy, 

To  Ilim  who  will  thy  wants  supply." 
The  boy  took  off  his  cap,  and  said, 
In  tones  so  gentle  and  subdued, 
"  0  God,  I  thank  Thee  for  this  gift; 
Thou  art  the  Giver  of  all  good." 


THE  DYX^;OUTH  FISHERMAN. 

A  TERRIFIC  storm  was  raging  on  the  wild  coast 
of  North  Devonshire,  and  the  Dynmouth  life- 
boat was  preparing  to  put  out  to  a  ship  which,  at 
some  distance  from  the  land,  was  making  signals  of 
distress. 

"  One  more  man  is  wanted  —  who  will  go  ?  "  was 
shouted  above  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  waves. 

"  I  will !  "  And  a  Dynmouth  fisher-lad  started  forth 
from  a  crowd  of  anxious  spectators  grouped  upon  the 
beach. 

Tiie  cry  was  taken  up  by  the  excited  bystanders, 
"  Will  Carew  —  he  will  go  1  He  can  pull  an  oar  with 
the  best  man  in  the  boat ! " 


TiyD   DYNMOUTII   FISHERMAN.  201 

But  just,  then  a  woman,  pale  as  death,  her  olack  hair 
blown  Avildly  back  by  the  tempest,  darted  after  liim, 
and  with  a  shriek  caught  the  youth  by  the  flap  of  his 
sailor's  jacket. 

"  Mother  !  mother  I ''  he  said,  "  don't  be  foolish  now  1 
There's  nobody  else  to  go  —  don't  you  sec  ?  " 

But  the  woman,  having  stopped  him,  flung  herself 
on  his  neck. 

"  0,  my  Will  !  my  poor  fatherless  boy  !  ITow  can  I 
let  you  go  ?  You  are  all  I  have  !  The  dreadful  sea  ! 
Think  of  your  father,  and  have  pity  on  me  !  "  And  she 
sobbed  and  clung  in  an  agony  of  distress. 

Only  a  few  months  before,  her  husband,  a  brave  and 
skillful  fisherman,  had  gone  out  to  piiU  his  trawls,  been 
overtaken  by  a  violent  storm,  and  never  been  heard 
from  more.  Only  the  broken  pieces  of  his  boat  drift- 
ing upon  the  shore  had  brought  her  the  dismal  tidings 
of  his  fate.  She  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock 
of  that  dreadful  event ;  and  now  their  boy  —  the  brave 
Will,  in  whom  all  her  affections,  all  her  hopes,  were 
centred  —  was  going  to  risk  his  life  upon  the  same 
treacherous,  awful  deep. 

The  spectators  looked  with  compassionate  respect 
upon  her  grief;  and  some  one  muttered,  ''The  old  wife 
is  daft ;  and  no  wonder  !     Let  somebody  else  go  !  " 

But  Will,  who  would  not  tear  himself  from  her  cling- 
ing arms  by  force,  said  kindly  and  earnestly,  — 

"  The  boat  is  waiting  !  0,  mother,  it  is  not  the 
time  for  selfish  sorrow.  Think  of  the  lives  in  that 
wrecked  vessel  !  It  may  go  to  pieces  at  any  moment, 
and  Ave  may  be  too  late  tD  save  them." 

"Can  I  let  you?  —  can  I?  0,  my  brave  boy,  you 
are  right,  I  know  !     There  are  men  on  board  that  ship 


202  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

as  dear  to  their  friends,  perhaps,  as  your  father  was 
to  us.  And  they  may  be  saved  —  as  he  could  not  be  I 
Go,  go,  my  boy  !  and  Heaven  jpreserve  you  1 " 

Chisping  her  hands  together  as  if  to  keep  them  from 
holding  him  back,  slio  looked  on  in  agony  while  he 
leaped  aboard  the  boat,  which  was  already  pushing 
off,  seized  an  oar,  and  pulled  hastily  away  out  into  the 
dui-kness  of  the  storm  and  the  gathering  night. 

The  widow  watched  the  tossing  boat  disappear  in 
the  liglit  of  the  beacon-fire,  which  shot  its  ruddy  glare 
over  the  breakers;  then  suffered  herself  to  be  led  away 
by  kind  neighbors  to  her  desolate  cottage,  where  she 
was  left  alone  to  struggle  with  her  old  sorrow  and  her 
new  fear.  » 

Some  of  those  who  remained  on  the  shore  to  watch 
for  the  boat,  —  for  it  contained  other  lives  as  precious 
as  Will's,  —  had  promised  to  give  her  instant  warning 
of  its  safe  return  ;  and  suddenly  in  the  dead  of  night 
came  a  loud  knock  on  her  door,  and  a  shout,  — 

"  They  are  coming  back  !  the  boat  has  lived  through 
a  terrible  sea,  and  now  if  she  pulls  through  the  break- 
ers again  she  is  safe  1 " 

The  speaker  disappeared  in  the  storm  ;  and  the 
widow,  who  was  at  the  door  at  the  first  sound  of  his 
voice,  ran  out  after  him,  in  the  direction  of  tlie 
beacon-fire. 

She  was  just  in  time  to  hear  cries  of  welcome  and 
triumph,  and  see  the  boat  seized  and  dragged  upon 
the  shore,  out  of  the  jaws  of  the  last  foaming  wave. 

In  a  minute  Will  was  half  stifled  in  his  mother's 
wild   embrace. 

"  You  are  safe  :  thank  God !  thank  God ! "  she  sobbed. 

"All  safe,  mother,"  Will  replied.     "And  we  have 


THE  DYXMOUTH  fisherm.\:n".  203 

broug-lit  ofT  every  one  of  tlic  crew  from  the  wreck  — 
we  picked  up  the  last  man  after  he  had  been  swept 
off  by  a  wave  into  the  yea.  They  are. lifting  him  from 
the  boat  now ;  for  he  was  exhausted  and  nearly 
drowned.     Shall  he  be  taken  to  our  house  ? " 

"  0,  yes  !  and  Heaven  be  praised  that  he  —  that  you, 
and  all  are  saved  !  What  do  I  hear  —  what  do  I  hear, 
Will  ?  " 

Will,  standing-  in  the  light  of  the  beacon-fire,  watch- 
ing anxiously  his  mother's  face  and  the  excited  group 
about  the  boat,  replied,  — 

"  There  are  some  who  know  him  ;  he  was  once  a 
Dynmouth  fisherman.  0,  mother  !  mother  !  don't  go 
down  there  yet  —  wait  till  I  tell  you  ! " 

Will  was  strangely  agitated,  as,  keeping  between  his 
mother  and  the  group,  he  went  on :  — 

"  I  saved  him  with  my  own  hands  —  caught  him  by 
the  hair  as  he  was  drilling  by.  It  was  after  he  had 
revived  a  little  that  we  found  out  who  he  was.  He 
went  out  from  Dynmouth  once  in  his  fishing-boat  — 
was  lost  in  a  storm  —  picked  up  by  a  brig  bound  on  a 
foreign  voyage  —  and  now,  on  his  way  home,  another 
storm  —  0,  mother  !  since  he  was  saved,  may  not  my 
own  father  have  been  picked  up,  too.  I  sprang  before 
to  tell  you  —  " 

Will  tried  to  hold  her  back  ;  but  just  then  the  red 
light  of  the  beacon  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  rescued 
man,  as  he  staggered  towards  her,  half  supported  by 
two  of  his  old  neighbors. 

"  My  husband  ! "     And  with  a  piercing  scream   of 
joy  she  flew  to  receive  in  her  arms  the  long-lost  man, 
who  had  that  night  been  saved  from  a  second  peril  of 
death  by  the  hands  of  his  own  son. 


204        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THREE   LITTLE   NEST-BIRDS. 


W 


i\JE  meant  to  be  very  kind  ; 

But  if  ever  we  find 

Another  soft,  gray-green,  feather-lined 

Nest  in  a  hedge, 

We  have  taken  a  pledge,  — 
Susan,  Jemmy,  and  I, —  with  remorseful  tears  at  this 

very  minute, 
That  if  there  are  eggs  or  little  birds  in  it,  — 
Robin  or  wren,  thrush,  chaffinch,  or  linnet, — 

We'll  leave  them  there 

To  their  mother's  care. 

There  were  three  of  us,  —  Kate  and  Susan  and  Jeijj,  — 

And  three  of  them. 
I  don't  know  their  names,  for  they  couldn't  speak, 
Except  with  a  little  imperative  squeak 

Exactly  like  Poll, 

Susan's  squeaking  doll ; 
But  squeaking  dulls  will  lie  on  the  shelves 
For  years,  and  never  squeak  of  themselves. 
The  reason  we  like  little  birds  so  much  better  than  toys 
Is  because  they  arc  really  alive,  and  know  how  to  make 
a  noise. 

There  were  three  of  us,  and  three  of  them,  — 

Kate  — that  is,  I — and  Susan  and  Jem. 

Our  mother  was  busy  making  a  pie  ; 

And  theirs  we  think  was  up  in  the  sky. 

But,  for  all  Susan,  Jemmy,  or  I  can  tell, 

She  may  have  been  getting  their  dinner  as  well. 

They  were  left  to  themselves  (and  so  were  we) 

In  a  nest  in  the  hedge  by  the  willow-tree  ; 

And  when  we  caught  sight  of  three  red  little  fluff-tufted, 

hazel-eyed,    open-mouthed,    pink-throated    heads, 

we  all  shouted  for  glee. 


THREE   LITTLE  NEST-BIRDS.  205 

The  way  we  really  did  wrong  was  this : 

We  took  them  for  mother  to  kiss  ; 

And  slie  told  us  to  put  them  back, 

While  out  on  the  weeping-willow  their  mother  was  cry- 
ing, "  Alack  !  " 

We  really  heard 

Both  what  mother  told   us  to  do,  and  the  voice  of  the 
mother-bird  : 

But  we  three  —  that  is,  Susan  and  I  and  Jem  — 

Thought  we  knew  better  than  either  of  them  ; 

And   in  spite   of  our   mother's  command  and   the  poor 
bird's  cry, 

We  determined  to  bring  up  her  three  little  nestlings  our- 
selves on  the  sly. 

We  each  took  one. 
It  did  seem  such  excellent  fun  ! 
Susan  fed  hers  on  milk  and  bread. 
Jem  got  wriggling  worms  for  his  instead. 

I  gave  mine  meat ; 
For,   you  know,    I    thought,    "  Poor   darling  pet  !    why 

shouldn't  it  have  roast-beef  to  cat 't  " 
But,  0  dear !   0  dear  !   0  dear  !  how  we  cried. 
When,  in  spite  of  milk  and  bread,  and  worms  and  roast- 
beef,  the  little  birds  died  ! 

It's  a  terrible  thing  to  have  heart-ache  ! 

1  thought  mine  would  break 

As  I  heard  the  mi)ther-bird's  moan, 

And  looked  at  the  gray-green,  moss-coated,  featlier-lined 

nest  she  had  taken  such  pains  to  make  ; 
And  her  three  little  children  dead  and  cold  as  a  stone  ! 
Mother  said,  — and  it's  sadly  true,  — 
"  There  are  some  wrong  things  one  can  never  undo  ;  " 
And  nothing  that  we  could  do  or  say 
Would  bring  back  life  to  the  birds  that  day. 


206        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Tlio  bitterest  tears  tliat  vrc  could  weep 

Wouldn't  waken  them  out  of  their  stilF,  cold  sleep  : 
But  then 

"We  —  Susan  and  Jcni  and  I  —  mean  never  to  be  so  self- 
ish and  wilful  and  cruel  again  ; 

And  wo  three  have  buried  that  other  three 

In  a  soft,  green,  moss-covered,  jlower-linod  grave  at  the 
foot  of  the  willow-tree  ; 

And  all  the  leaves  which  its  branches  shed 

We  think  are  tears  because  they  are  dead. 


ANGER  AND   ENUMERATION. 

ADANBURY  man,  named  Reubens,  recently  saw 
a  statement,  that  counting  one  hundred  when 
tempted  to  speak  an  angry  word  would  save  a  man 
a  great  deal  of  trouble.  This  statement  sounded  a 
little  singular  at  first,  but  the  more  he  read  it  over 
the  more  favorably  he  became  impressed  with  it,  and 
finally  concluded  to  adopt  it. 

Next  door  to  Reubens  lives  a  man  who  has  made 
five  distinct  attempts  in  the  past  fortnight  to  secure 
a  dinner  of  green  peas  by  the  first  of  July,  and  every 
time  has  been  retarded  by  Reubens'  hens.  The  next 
morning  after  Reubens  made  his  resolution,  this  man 
found  his  fifth  attempt  to  have  miscarried.  Then  he 
called  on  Reubens.     He  said,  — 

"  What  in  thunder  do  you  moan  by  letting  your 
hens  tear  up  my  garden  ?  " 

Reubens  was  prompted  to  call  liim  a  mud-snoot,  — 
a  new  name  just  coming  into  general  use,  —  but  he 
remembered  his  resolution  put  down  his  rage,  and 
meekly  observed, — 


ANGER    AND    ENUMERATION.  207 

''  One,  two,  tliree,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight —  " 

Then  the  mad  neighbor,  who  had  been  eying  this 
answer  with  a  great  deal  of  suspicion,  broke  in 
again,  — 

"  Why  don't  you  answer  my  question,  you  rascal?" 

But  still  Reubens  maintained  his  equanimity,  and 
went  on  with  the  test. 

"  Nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve,  thirteen,  fourteen,  fif- 
teen, sixteen —  " 

The  mad  neighbor  stared  harder  than  ever. 

"  Seventeen,  eighteen,  nineteen,  twenty,  twenty- 
one  —  " 

"You're  a  mean  skunk!"  said  the  mad  neighbor, 
backing  towards  the  fence. 

Reuben's  face  flushed  at  this  charge,  but  he  only 
said, — 

"  Twenty-two,  twenty -three,  twenty-ibur,  twenty- 
five,  twenty-six —  " 

At  this  figure  the  neighbor  got  up  on  the  fence  in 
some  haste,  but  suddenly  thinking  of  his  peas,  he 
opened  his  mouth,  — 

"  You  mean,  low-lived  rascal !  For  two  cents  I 
could  knock  your  cracked  head  over  a  barn,  and  I 
would —  " 

''  Twenty-seven,  twenty-eight,"  interrupted  Reu- 
bens, "  twenty-nine,  thirty,  thirty-one,  thirty-two, 
thirty-three —  " 

Here  the  neiglibor  broke  for  the  liouse,  and  entering 
it,  violently  shimmed  the  door  behind  him  ;  but  Reu- 
bens did  not  dare  let  up  on  the  enumeration,  and  so 
he  stood  out  there  alone  in  his  own  yard,  and  kept  on 
counting,  while  his  burning  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes 
eloquently  aflirmed   his  judgment.     When  he  got  up 


208  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

into  the  eighties,  his  wife  came  to  the  door  in  some 
ahirm. 

"  Why,  Reubens,  man,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  '*  she  said.     "  Do  come  into  the  house." 

But  he  didn't  let  up.  She  came  out  to  him,  and 
clung  trcmblingij  to  him,  but  he  only  looked  into  her 
eyes,  and  said  — 

"  Ninety-three,  ninety-four,  ninety-five,  ninety-six, 
ninety-seven,  ninety-eight,  ninety-nine,  one  hundred 
—  go  into  the  house,  old  woman,  or  I'll  bust  ye  ! " 

And  she  went. 

James  il.  Bajlet. 


KING   CHRISTIAN   THE   DANE. 

HEARKEN  while  I  sing 
A  song  of  a  Danish  King,  — 
Christian  the  Fifth,  and  the  best ; 
He  wore,  in  shade  and  in  sun, 
The  Cross  of  the  Crucified  One 
On  his  mailed  breast. 

He  was  a  sailor  brave  ; 

And  he  drove  on  the  ocean  wave 

Before  the  storms  of  the  Lord,  — 
The  crown  of  the  land  on  his  head, 
On  his  breast  the  symbol  of  red. 

By  his  side  the  sword. 

AVild  blew  the  winter  gale, 
Rending  at  shroud  and  sail 

With  a  storm  of  snow  and  sleet ; 
And  croucliing  like  birds  in  fear 
When  the  hawk  of  the  hill  swoops  near, 

Lay  the  Danish  fleet. 


KING   CHRISTIAN   TOE   DANE.  209 

At  anchor  like  birds  they  lay, 
In  a  foul  and  open  bay, 

Each  with  a  I'olded  wing  ; 
But  out  in  the  tempest's  brawl, 
In  the  noblest  ship  of  all, 

Stood  Christian  the  King-. 

Black  came  the  winter  night, 
But  the  foam  was  driving  white, 

And  the  breakers  flashed  ashore  ; 
And  now  and  again  overhead, 
The  electric  forks  ran  red 

To  the  thunder's  roar. 

Down  through  the  narrow  .sound 
Flying,  bound  upon  bound, 

Blown  by  the  shrieking  wind, 
The  ship  fled,  straining  sore, 
With  tlie  fatal  rocks  before 

And  the  storm  behind. 

Then  into  the  open  bay, 
Where  the  ships  at  anchor  lay 

She  drove  with  tattered  sail  ; 
Loudly  the  thunder  rung  — 
The  steersman  shouted,  and  swung 
Iler  head  to  the  gale. 

Swift  as  thought,  from  her  bow 
They  have  hurled  the  anchor  now, 

Iluge  and  black  and  strong. 
What's  this  ?     The  men  turn  pale  — 
Sideways  before  the  gale 

She  is  driven  along  1 

"  Cast  forth  anchor  !  "  they  cry,  — 
And  the  liglitning  from  the  sky 
Illumes  them  with  its  flush. 
14 


210  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

The  great  masts  bend  and  groan  — 
The  second  anchor  is  thrown 
And  sinks  with  a  splash. 

Leaning  against  the  mast, 

"While  the  fluke  is  loosened  and  cast, 

The  King  stands  still  and  pale. 
Hark  !  what  is  this  they  say  ? 
Still  she  is  dragging  away 

With  the  breath  of  the  gale  ! 

All  that  rcmaineth,  all, 

Is  an  anchor  light  and  small. 

And  a  warp  of  hempen  rope  :  — 
"  What  booteth  to  cast  it  out  ?  " 
The  afl righted  sailors  shout. 

And  abandon  hope. 

Then  loud  o'er  the  storm  doth  ring 
The  voice  of  Christian  tlio  King  : 

"  Nay  — cast  it  overboard  ! 
God  made  all  things  that  be  — 
Yea,  cast  it  into  the  sea, 

In  the  name  of  the  Lord  !  " 

'Tis  done  !     All  hold  their  breath  — 
For  the  foam-white  eyes  of  death 

Flash  to  a  tjullen  sound  — 
What's  this  ?     They  raise  their  hands  - 
She  swings  to  the  gale,  and  stands, 

For  it  grips  the  ground  I 

A  hundred  yards  from  land 
Bchohl  the  good  ship  stand, 

Held  by  that  anchor  small  !  — 
Ah,  who  shall  answer  "  Nay," 
When  lie  on  the  Throne  says  "  Yea," 

Being  Lord  of  all  ? 


THE   BRAHMIN   AND    THE   TIGER.  211 

Honor  to  Christian  the  King  ! 
Who  knew  that  a  little  tiling 

May  serve  when  the  mightiest  fail. 
ITonor  to  Christian  the  Dane  ! 
For  he  trusted  the  Lord  of  the  main 

And  the  wind  and  the  gale  1 

When  thou  despairest,  sing 
This  song  of  a  Christian  King, 

And  the  Danish  ship  he  trod. 
Have  great  things  failed  thee  so  ?  — 
Trust  to  the  smallest,  and  throw 

In  the  name  of  God  ! 


THE   BRAHMIN   AND   THE   TIGER. 

A   HINDOO    STORY. 

A  TIGER,  prowling  in  a  forest,  was  attracted  by  a 
bleating  calf.  It  proved  to  bo  a  bait,  and  the 
tiger  found  himself  trapped  in  a  spring  cage.  Tiiero 
lie  lay  for  two  days,  when  a  Brahmin  happened  to  pass 
that  way. 

"  0,  Brahmin  ! "  piteously  cried  the  beast,  "  have 
mercy  on  mc  \  let  mo  out  of  this  cage." 

''  Ah  !  but  you  will  eat  mo." 

'' Eat  you  !  Devour  ni}'^  benefactor?  Never  could 
I  be  guilty  of  such  a  deed,"  responded  the  tiger. 

The  Brahmin,  being  benevolently  inclined,  was 
moved  by  these  entreaties  and  opened  the  door  of  the 
cage.  The  tiger  walked  up  to  him,  wagged  his  tail, 
and  said, — 


212  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Brahmin,  prepare  to  die  ;  I  shall  now  eat  you." 

"  0  how  ungrateful !  how  wicked  !     Did  I  not  save 
your  life?  "  protested  the  trembling  priest. 
.    "  True,''  said  the  tiger,  "  very  true ;  but  it  is  the 
custom  of  my  race  to  eat  a  man  when  we  get  a  chance, 
and  I  cannot  afford  to  let  you  go." 

"  Let  us  submit  the  case  to  an  arbitrator,"  said  the 
Brahmin.  *'  Here  comes  tlie  fox.  The  fox  is  wise  j 
let  us  abide  by  his  decision." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  the  tiger. 

The  fox,  assuming  a  judicial  aspect,  sat  on  his 
haunches  with  all  the  dignity  he  could  muster,  and, 
looking  at  the  disputants,  he  said, — 

"  Good  friends,  I  am  somewhat  confused  at  the  dif- 
ferent accounts  which  you  give  of  this  matter ;  my 
mind  is  not  clear  enough  to  render  equitable  judgment, 
but  if  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  act  the  whole  trans- 
action before  my  eyes,  I  shall  attain  unto  a  more  def- 
inite conception  of  the  case.  Do  you,  Mr.  Tiger,  show 
me  just  how  you  approached  and  entered  the  cage, 
and  then  you,  Mr.  Brahmin,  show  me  how  you  liber- 
ated him,  and  I  shall  be  able  to  render  a  proper  de- 
cision." 

They  assented,  for  the  fox  was  solemn  and  oracular. 
The  tiger  walked  into  the  cage,  the  spring  door  fell 
and  shut  him  in.  lie  was  a  prisoner.  The  judicial 
expression  faded  from  the  fox's  countenance,  and, 
turning  to  the  Brahmin,  he  said,  — 

"  I  advise  you  to  go  home  as  fast  as  you  can,  and 
abstain,  in  future,  from  doing  favors  to  rascally  tigers. 
Good  morning,  Brahmin ;  good  morning,  tiger." 


JINGLES.  213 


JINGLES. 


ITTnO  can  tell  what  a  baby  thinks, 
VV    When  it  wakes  from  its  fort}'  winks, 
And  rubs  its  face  into  numerous  kinks, 
And  stares  at  the  light  that  comes  in  at  the  chinks 
Of  its  rockaby  nest,  and  gapes  and  blinks,  — 
AVho  can  tell  what  a  baby  thinks  ? 

Who  has  courage  to  venture  a  guess 
As  to  what  the  baby  may  think  of  its  dress, 
Trimmed  and  ruffled  to  such  excess  ? 
Or  what  the  baby  may  think  of  the  mess 
For  headache,  and  toothache,  and  stomach  distress. 
And  for  all  its  ailings,  more  or  less  ? 

What  does  it  think  when  it  wakes  at  night, 

With  all  the  pretty  things  out  of  sight, 

With  nobody  stirring  and  "  making  a  light "  ? 

Does  it  think  its  condition  is  far  from  right, 

And  that  big  folks  are  not  at  all  polite. 

And  treat  their  visitors  far  from  right. 

And  that  darkness  is  meant  for  a  personal  slight  ? 

Is  that  the  reason  it  takes  delight 

In  screaming  with  all  its  personal  might, 

And  rousing  the  neighbors  at  dead  of  night  ? 

And  what  do  you  think  that  the  baby  thinks  ? 
Looking  about  like  a  mild-eyed  lynx. 
Watching  the  spoon  that  tinkles  and  clinks. 
While  papa  is  warming  its  catnip  drinks 
Over  a  candle  that  glimmers  and  blinks. 
Humming  and  drumming  out  '"  Captain  Jinks," 
That  the  children  skate  to  now  at  the  rinks,  — 
AVhat  do  you  think  that  the  baby  thinks  ? 


214;  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Did  jou  say  that  babies  are  thinkless  things, 
AVitli  no  (ithcr  b'g-lit  tlian  what  instinct  bi'ings  ; 
AVith  brains  as  duwny  as  butterliies'  wings, 
And  heads  as  empty  as  a  bell  that  swings 
Over  and  under,  and  rings,  and  sings 
When  muscular  motion  is  moving  the  strings  ? 
Did  you  say  that  babies  are  thinkless  things  ? 
Then  when  does  the  thing  begin  to  grow  ? 
And  when  does  the  mind  begin  to  show  ? 
And  when  does  the  baby  begin  to  know 
That  this  is  true,  'or  that  is  so  ? 

Say,  when  you  find  out,  please  let  me  know. 

Examiner  and  Chronicle. 


Pl^AYER  AND   POTATOES. 


["  If  a  brother  or  sister  be  naked,  and  destitute  of  daily  food,  and 
one  of  you  say  unto  tliem,  Depart  in  peace,  be  ye  warmed  and  filled, 
notwithstanding  ye  give  them  not  those  things  which  are  needful  to 
the  body,  what  doth  it  profit?  "  —  James  ii.  15,  18.] 

AN  old  lady  sat  in  her  old  arm-chair. 
With  wrinkled  visage  and  dishevelled  hair. 
And  liunger-worn  features. 
For  days  and  for  weeks  her  only  fare, 
As  she  sat  in  her  old  arm-chair, 
llad  been  potatoes. 

But  now  they  were  gone  :  of  bad  or  good 
Not  one  was  left  for  the  old  lady's  food 

Of  those  potatoes. 
And  she  sighed,  and  said,  "  What  shall  1  do  ? 
Where  shall  I  send,  and  to  whom  shall  I  go 

For  more  potatoes  '{  " 


PRAYER   AND   POTATOES.  215 

And  she  thought  of  the  de.icon  over  the  way, 
The  deacon  so  ready  to  worship  and  pray, 

Whose  cellar  was  full  of  i)otatoos. 
She  said,  "  I  will  send  Ibr  the  deacon  to  come  ; 
He'll  not  much  mind  to  give  me  some 

Of  such  a  store  of  potatoes." 

And  the  deacon  came  over  as  fast  as  he  could, 
Thinking  to  do  the  old  lady  some  good, 

But  never  for  once  of  potatoes. 
He  asked  her  at  once  what  was  her  chief  want : 
And  she,  simple  soul,  expecting  a  grant. 

Immediately  answered,  "  Potatoes." 

But  the  deacon's  religion  didn't  lie  that  way  ; 
He  was  more  accustomed  to  preach  and  to  pray 

Than  to  give  his  hoarded  potatoes. 
So,  not  hearing,  of  course,  what  the  old  lady  said. 
He  rose  to  pray,  with  uncovered  head  : 

But  she  only  thought  of  potatoes. 

He  prayed  for  patience,  goodness,  and  grace  ; 
But  wlien  he  prayed,  "  Lord,  give  her  peace," 

She  audibly  sighed,  "  Give  potatoes." 
And  at  the  end  of  each  prayer  which  he  said, 
He  heard,  or  thought  he  heard,  in  its  stead. 

That  same  request  for  potatoes. 

The  deacon  was  troubled,  knew  not  what  to  do  ; 
'Twas  very  embarrassing  to  have  her  act  so. 

And  about  those  carnal  potatoes. 
So,  ending  his  prayers,  he  started  for  home  ; 
The  door  closed  behind  ;  he  heard  a  deep  groan  : 

"  0,  give  to  the  hungry  potatoes  1  " 

And  the  groan  followed  him  all  the  way  home  ; 

In  the  midst  of  the  night  it  haunted  his  room  : 

"  0,  give  to  the  hungry  potatoes  !  " 


216        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

He  could  bear  it  no  longer ;  arose  and  dressed, 
From  liis  well-filled  cellar  taking  in  haste 
A  bag  of  his  best  potatoes. 

Again  he  went  to  the  widow's  lone  hut ; 
ller  sleepless  eyes  she  had  not  yet  shut ; 
But  there  she  sat  in  the  old  arm-chair, 
With  the  same  wan  features,  same  wan  air. 
And  entering  in,  he  poured  on  the  floor 
A  bushel  or  more  from  his  goodly  store 
Of  choicest  potatoes. 

The  widow's  heart  leaped  up  for  joy  ; 
Her  face  was  pale  and  haggard  no  more. 
"  Now,"  said  the  deacon,  "  shall  we  pray  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  the  widow,  "  now  you  may." 
And  he  knelt  him  down  on  the  sanded  floor, 
Where  he  had  poured  out  his  goodly  store. 
And  such  a  prajx-r  the  deacon  prayed 
As  never  before  his  lips  essayed. 
No  longer  embarrassed,  but  free  and  full, 
He  poured  out  the  voice  of  a  liberal  soul ; 
And  the  widow  responded  a  loud  "  Amen  !" 
But  said  no  more  of  potatoes. 

And  would  you  who  hear  this  simple  tale. 
Pray  for  the  poor,  and  praying,  prevail  ? 
Then  preface  your  prayer  with  alms  and  good  deeds  ; 
Search  out  the  poor,  their  wants  and  needs  ; 
■  Pray  for  their  peace  and  grace,  spiritual  food, 
For  wisdom  and  guidance  —  all  these  are  good  ; 
But  don't  forget  the  potatoes  ! 


MICE   AT    PLAY.  217 


MICE   AT   PLAY. 

I^OITR  children  sat  around  a  wood-firo,  in  an  old- 
fashioned  country  house.  The  red  embers  bUized 
up  merrily,  and  showed  four  fluslied  little  faces,  four 
very  tangled  heads  of  hair,  eight  bright,  merry  eyes, 
and  —  I  regret  extremely  to  add  —  eight  very  dirty 
little  hands,  belonging,  respectively,  to  Bess,  Bob, 
Archie,  and  Tom.  Mamma  was  away,  you  may  bo 
sure.  If  she  were  at  home,  the  children  would  have 
made  a  very  different  appearance.  0  yes,  indeed, 
quite  and  entirely  different. 

The  round  table  was  wheeled  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  the  student  lamp  in  the  centre  shed  its  light  on 
Tom's  letter,  whicli  he  was  writing  to  his  mother. 

Archie  was  leaning  back  in  the  large  chair ;  his  arm, 
which  he  had  broken  in  riding  the  trick  mule  of  the 
circus  the  day  before,  was  in  a  splint ;  but,  judging 
from  the  rapid  disappearance  of  the  gingerbread  on 
tlie  plate  near  him,  it  is  to  be  doubted  if  new  cider,  trick 
mules,  or  broken  arms  seriously  impair  the  appetite. 

"  Bess,  stop  jogging  the  table  !  How  on  earth  can 
a  fellow  write  with  you  around  ?  " 

*'  Read  what  you've  written,"  said  Bess. 

"  Yes,  do,"  chimed  in  Archie.  They  were  both 
anxious  to  know  what  account  their  mother  would 
receive  of  their  performance. 

"Wait  till  it's  done,"  answered  Tom.  Writing  a 
letter  was  no  joke  for  Thomas  Bradley,  junior. 

"  How  on  earth  do  you  spell  circus  '/  "  he  asked. 

"  S-u-r-k-e-s?:,"  answered  Bess,  proni[)tly. 


^8  YOUNG   folks'   readings. 

"  No  you  dou't,"  cried  Tom.     "  I  know  better." 

"  If  you  know  so  much,  why  do  you  ask  ?  "  retorted 
Bess. 

"  0,  come,  Bess  !    do  think,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  c  in  it,"  put  in  Archie  ;  "  for  I  saw  the 
big  red-and-blue  posters  in  the  viUage,  and  I  know 
there  was  a  c  in  circus." 

"  Then  it's  c-i-r-k-i-s,"  said  Bess. 

'*  Yes ;  I  guess  that's  right,"  said  Tom,  thoughtfully, 
writing  the  word,  and  then  holding  his  head  back  from 
the  paper,  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other,  to 
see  if  it  looked  natural. 

"  I'm  not  exactly  sure,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  It  looks 
kinder  queer.  And  mamma  does  make  such  a  row  if 
I  don't  spell  right !  What's  the  use  in  spelling,  any 
way  ?  If  the  folks  know  what  you  mean,  that's 
enough  —  one  way  is  as  good  as  another.  Pshaw!" 
he  continued,  '*  1  don't  believe  it  is  right.  See  here, 
Bob!  you're  a  first-rate  little  boy  —  a  real,  regular 
first-rate  good  boy,  you  are." 

"  If  it's  up-stairs,  I  won't,"  declared  Bob,  who 
knew  that  flattery  always  preceded  errands.  Bob 
was  one  of  the  kind  who  learned  by  experience. 

"  0,  yes,  Bobby  !  That's  a  lovely  harness  you've 
made  for  pussy.  I  couldn't  have  done  better  myself. 
You  know  where  my  dictionary  is,  up  in  my  room,  on 
the  table.     Bun  along  and  get  it,  —  that's  a  good  boy." 

Bob  kei)t  on  with  his  work. 

"  Come,  Bobby,"  said  Tom,  encouragingly. 

"  Go  yourself,"  was  Bob's  polite  suggestion. 

"  0,  I'm  so  tired.  I've  done  nothing  but  run  for 
doctors  all  day  long.  Come,  Bol),  I'll  tell  mamma 
what  a  good  boy  you  are  if  you  will." 


MICE   AT   PLAY.  219 

"  Won't  you  tell  her  I  dropped  the  teapot  down  the 
well  ?  "  asked  Bob. 

"  0,  did  you  ?  "  cried  Tom,  Bess,  and  Archie,  all  in 
a  breath. 

Bob  nodded  his  head,  and  looked  at  them  all  with  a 
calm  stare. 

"  Which  one?"  asked  the  three  children,  anxiously. 

"  The  big  silver  one,"  said  Bob. 

"  How  ?    Why  ?    What  were  you  doing  with  it  ?  " 

"  The  gardener  wouldn't  lend  me  the  watering-pot, 
and  I  wanted  to  water  my  garden,  so  I  just  thought 
that  would  do  instead  ;  and  I  went  to  fill  it  at  the 
well,  and  the  bucket  hit  it  right  over  into  the  well.  It 
was  the  bucket's  fault.     I  ain't  to  blame." 

"  Whe-e-ew  ! "  at  last  whistled  Tom. 

"  If  you  won't  tell  mamma,  I'll  go  for  your  book," 
said  Bob. 

"  Well,  I  won't  tell  her  in  this  letter,  any  way." 

"  Don't  tell  her  at  all,"  insisted  Bob. 

"  If  you  don't  go  right  off  and  get  it,  I'll  write  it 
this  moment." 

"  I'll  go,  111  go  ! "  cried  Bob. 

"  That's  the  worst  scrape  yet,"  said  Bess,  "  For  if  I 
did  get  lost,  I  was  found  again;  and  if  I  did  tear  my 
clothes,  they  are  all  mended  now ;  and  if  Archie  did 
break  his  arm,  he's  got  it  mended  now,  too  ;  but  the 
teapot !  That's  dropped  down  the  Avell,  and  there 
it  is." 

Bessie's  argument  was  convincing.  There  was  no 
more  to  be  said. 

After  a  while,  Tom's  letter  was  finished,  and  ran  as 
follows :  — 


220  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Dear  Mamma  :  T  wish  you  was  home.  We  have 
dun  a  good  menny  bad  things.  Bess  got  lost  in  the 
woods,  and  most  drowned  in  Rainy  Pond.  I  shot  Kate 
thru  the  head  with  a  squirt  of  water,  and  most  killed 
her.  Archie  broke  his  arm  trying  to  wride  the  trik 
mule  at  the  curkis.  Bob  has  dun  worst  of  all ;  but  I 
sed  I  woodn't  tel  that.  Bob  has  dun  a  dredful  thing ; 
but  I  sed  I  woodn't  tel,  so  I  won't.  It's  orful.  Papa 
is  very  good  to  us,  and  don't  make  us  wash  too  niuch. 
The  bred  is  orful ;  Maggy  is  cross.  But  we're  all  wel, 
except  Archy's  arm,  and  Dr.  Jarvis  says  if  he  don't 
get  fever  he  wil  get  wel. 

"  Your  loveing  son,  Tom. 

"  P.  S.  You  wil  feel  orful  bad  about  what  Bob's 
dun." 

The  next  morning  all  four  children  were  gathered 
around  the  well,  at  the  bottom  of  which  lay  the  silver 
teapot. 

"  I  see  it,  I  see  it ! "  cried  Tom,  eagerly.  "  It's 
down  at  the  bottom." 

"  Did  you  suppose  it  would  float  ?  "  asked  Bess. 

"  Let  me  see,"  cried  Bob. 

"You  clear  out,"  said  Archie;  "you've  made  all 
this  mischief  You'd  better  go  before  you  tumble  in 
yourself,  you  little  goose.  I  can't  go  after  it,  with  my 
broken  arm." 

"  Now,  I  suppose  we  will  hear  of  nothing  but  your 
broken  arm  for  a  month,  and  you'll  shirk  everything 
for  it.  '  J  can't  study  'cause  my  arm's  broken ;  I  can't 
go  errands  'cause  my  arm's  broken;  I  can't  go  to 
church  'cause  my  arm's  broken ; '  tliat  will  be  your 
whim,  Archie ;  but  don't  try  your  dodges  on  me,  for  I 


MICE    AT    PLAY.  221 

won't  stand  it.  If  it  really  hurts  you,  I'm  sorry,  and 
I'll  lick  any  fellow  that  touches  you  till  you  get  well 
again ;  but  none  of  your  humbug.  Of  course  you  can't 
go  down  the  well,  you  couldn't  if  your  arm  wasn't 
broken." 

Meanwhile  Bess  had  gone  to  the  house  for  a  long 
fishing-pole,  and  soon  returned  carrying  it. 

"  We'll  fasten  a  hook  to  the  end  of  it,  and  fish  the 
teapot  up,"  said  she. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  Do  you  suppose  it  will  bite  like  a  fish  ?  " 
laughed  Tom. 

"No,  I  do  not,  Tom  Bradley.  But  I  suppose  if  I 
tie  a  string  to  the  pole,  and  fasten  an  iron  hook  to  one 
end,  that  I  can  wiggle  it  round  in  the  water  till  the 
hook  catches  in  the  handle,  and  then  we  can  draw  it 
up.     That's  what  I  suppose." 

"  There's  something  in  that,  Bess.     Let  me  try." 

"  No ;  go  and  get  one  for  yourself." 

"  But  where  can  I  find  one  ?  " 

"  In  the  smoke-house,  where  I  got  mine." 

"  0,  get  rae  one,  too,"  cried  Bob. 

"  And  me  one,  too,"  cried  Archie. 

Before  half  an  hour  had  passed,  the  four  children, 
all  armed  with  fishing-poles,  were  intently  wiggling 
in  the  water,  catching  their  hooks  in  the  stt)nes  by  the 
side  of  the  well,  entangling  their  lines,  digging  their 
elbows  into  each  other's  sides,  in  their  frantic  attempts 
to  pull  their  hooks  loose,  scolding,  pushing,  and  get- 
ting generally  excited. 

Every  few  minutes  Tom  would  pull  Bess  back  by 
her  sun-bonnet,  and  save  her  from  tumbling  over  in 
her  eagerness ;  but  so  far  from  being  grateful  to  her 
deliverer,  Bess  resented  the  treatment  indignantly. 


222  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Stop  jerking  ray  head  so  !  "  she  cried. 

"  You'll  be  in,  in  a  minute ;  you'd  have  been  in 
then,  if  I  liadn't  jerked  you,"  answered  Tom. 

'*  "Well,  what  if  I  had  ?  Let  me  alone.  If  I  go  in, 
that's  ray  own  lookout." 

"  Your  own  look  in,  you  mean.  My  gracious  ! 
wonldirt  you  astonish  the  toads  down  there  !  But 
you'd  get  your  face  clean." 

"  Now,  Tom,  you  let  me  be.  I  'most  had  it  that 
time." 

"  So  you've  said  forty  times.  This  is  all  humbug. 
I'm  going  down  on  the  rope  for  it." 

"  0,  no,  Tom,  please  don't.  Indeed  you'll  be 
drowned;  the  rope  will  break;  you'll  kill  yourself; 
you'll  catch  cold,"  cried  Bess,  in  alarm. 

"  Pooh  !  girl  !  coward  !  "  retorted  thankless  Tom. 
*'  Who's  afraid  of  what?  Stand  back,  small  boys,  I'm 
going  in." 

"  You'll  poison  the  water,"  suggested  Archie. 

"  It  will  be  so  cold,"  moaned  Bob. 

"  I'll  scream  for  a  hundred  years  without  stopping, 
Tom,"  cried  Bess,  wildly.  "You  shan't  go  down  — 
you  shan't ;  I'll  call  some  one.  Murray  !  Peter  !  Mag- 
gie !  c-o-o-o-o-o-o-me  !    O-o-o-o-li,  c-o-o-o-o-o-me  ! " 

"  Stop  screaming,  and  help.  Now,  do  you  three 
hold  on  tiglit  to  this  bucket ;  don't  let  go  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  pull  away  as  hai-d  as  you  can  when  I  tell  you 
to.     Now  for  it." 

And,  without  more  ado,  Tom  clung  to  the  other 
rope  with  liis  hands,  and  twisted  his  feet  around  the 
bucket-handle. 

"  Hold  on  tight,  and  let  me  down  easy,"  said  Tom, 
and  the  three  children  lowered  him  little  by  little. 


MICE   AT    PLAY.  2'23 

A  siultlen  splash  and  shiver  tohl  them  ho  had 
reached  water,  and  a  shout  of"  triumph  declared  that 
the  teapot  was  rescued. 

As  Tom  shouted,  all  the  children  let  go  the  rope, 
and  rushed  to  the  side  of  the  well  to  look  at  the  vic- 
torious hero. 

It  was  a  most  fortunate  circumstance  that  the  water 
in  the  well  was  low.  As  it  was,  he  stood  in  the  cold 
water  up  to  his  shoulders. 

"  What  made  you  let  go?  "  roared  Tom. 

"  0,  Tom,  have  you  got  it  ?  Have  you  really  ? 
Ain't  it  cold?  Are  you  hurt?  Were  you  scared? 
Is  the  teapot  broken  ?  " 

"  Draw  me  up  !  You  silly  children  !  You  goose  of 
a  Bess  !     Why  don't  you  draw  me  up  ?  " 

"  I  will,  Tom  ;  I'm  going  to,"  answered  Bess. 

But  all  the  united  efforts  could  not  raise  Tom. 

"  I'll  run  next  door  and  call  Mr.  Wilson,"  said  Bess, 
hopefully,  and  started. 

As  Bess  ran,  she  was  suddenly  stopped  at  the  gate 
by  the  sight  of  a  carriage  which  had  just  driven  up, 
and  out  of  which  now  stepped  Aunt  Maria  and  Aunt 
Maria's  husband.  Uncle  Daniel.  These  were  the  very 
grimmest  and  grandest  of  all  the  relations. 

For  one  awful  moment  Bess  stood  stunned.  Then 
her  anxiety  for  Tom  overcame  every  other  considera- 
tion, and  before  Aunt  Maria  could  say,  "  How  do  you 
do,  Elizabeth?"  she  had  caught  her  uncle  by  his 
august  coat-tail,  and,  in  a  piteous  voice,  besought  him 
to  come  and  pull  on  the  rope. 

"  Pull  on  a  rope,  Elizabeth  ! "  said  Uncle  Daniel, 
who  was  a  very  slow  man ;  "  why  should  I  pull  on  a 
rope,  my  dear  ?  " 


224  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

f'  O,  corae  quick  !  liurry  f;\ster  !  Tom  's  down  in  the 
well !  "  cried  Bess. 

"  Tom  down  a  well !     How  did  he  get  there  ?  " 

"  He  went  down  for  the  teapot,"  sobbed  Bess ; 
"  the  silver  teapot,  and  we  can't  pull  him  up  again ; 
and  he's  cramped  with  cold.     0,  do  hurry  ! " 

Uncle  Daniel  leisurely  looked  down  at  Tom.  Then 
he  slowly  took  oflf  his  coat,  and  as  slowly  carried  it 
into  the  house,  stopped  to  give  an  order  to  his  coach- 
man, came  with  measured  pace  to  the  three  frightened 
children;  then  took  hold  of  the  rope,  gave  a  long, 
strong,  calm  pull,  and  in  an  instant,  Tom,  "  dripping 
with  coolness,  arose  from  the  well." 


THE   PETPvIFIED   FERN. 

IN  a  valley,  centuincs  ago, 
Grew  a  little  fern  leaf,  green  and  slender, 
Veining  delicate,  and  fibres  tender, 
Waving  when  the  wind  crept  down  so  low  : 

Rushes  tall,  and  moss  and  grass  grew  round  it, 
Playful  sunbeams  darted  in  and  found  it, 
Drops  of  dew  stole  in  by  night  and  crowned  it. 
But  no  foot  of  man  e'er  trod  that  way  ; 
Earth  was  young,  and  keeping  holiday. 

Monster  fishes  swam  the  silent  main. 

Stately  forests  waved  their  giant  branches, 
Mountains  hurled  their  snowy  avalanches, 

Mammoth  creatures  stalked  across  the  plain  ; 
Nature  revelled  in  grand  mysteries  ; 
But  the  little  fern  was  not  one  of  these. 
Did  not  nuinb-T  with  tlic  hills  and  trees  ; 
Only  grew  and  waved  its  sweet,  wild  way  ; 
No  one  came  to  note  it  day  by  day. 


THE   blacksmith's   STORY.  225 

Earth  one  time  put  on  frolic  mood, 

Heaved  the  rocks,  and  changed  the  mighty  motion 

01' the  deep,  strong  currents  of  the  ocean  ; 
Moved  the  plain,  shook  the  haughty  wood, 

Crushed  the  little  fern  in  soft,  moist  clay  ; 

Covered  it,  and  liid  it  safe  away. 

0,  the  long,  long  centuries  since  that  day  ! 

0,  the  agony  !  0,  life's  bitter  cost, 

Since  that  useless  little  fern  was  lost  I 

Useless  ?     Lost?     There  came  a  thoughtful  man. 
Searching  out  Nature's  secrets  far  and  deep. 
From  a  lissure  in  a  rocky  steep 

lie  withdrew  a  stone,  o'er  which  there  ran 
Fairy  pencillings,  a  quaint  design, 
Veining  and  leafage,  fibres  clear  and  fine, 
And  the  fern's  life  lay  traced  in  every  line  ! 
Just  so,  I  think,  God  hides  some  souls  away, 
Sweetly  to  surprise  us  at  the  last  day. 


THE   BLACKSMITH'S   STORY. 

WELL,  no  !     My  wife  ain't  dead,  sir  ;  but  I've  lost  her 
all  the  same  ; 
She  left  me  voluntarily,  and  neither  was  to  blame. 
It's  rather  a  queer  story,  and  I  tliink  you  will  agree  — 
When  you  hear  the  circumstances  —  'twas  rather  rough 
ou  me. 

She  was  a  soldier's  widow.     lie  was  killed  at  Malvern 

Hill  ; 
And  when  I  married  her  she  seemed  to  sorrow  for  him 

still. 
But  I  brouglit  her  here  to  Kansas,  and  I  never  want  to 

see 
A  better  wife  than  Mary  was,  for  five  bright  years,  to  me  ! 
15 


226  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

The  change   of  scene  brought  cliccrfuhieRS,  and  soon  a 

rosy  glow 
Of  happiness  warmed  Mary's  cheeks,  and  melted  all  their 

snow. 
I  think  she  loved  mo  some,  —  I'm  bound  to  think  that  of 

her,  sir, — 
And  as  for  me,  —  I  can't  begin  to  tell  how  I  loved  her  ! 

Three  years  ago  the  baby  came,   our  humble   home  to 

bless  ; 
And  then  I  reckon  I  was  nigh  to  perfect  happiness, 
'Twas  hers  —  'twas  mine  ^ — but    I've    no    language    to 

explain  to  you 
How  that  little  girl's  weak  fingers  our  hearts  together 

drew  1 

Once  we  watched  it  through  a  fever,  and,  with  each  gasp- 
ing breath, 

Dumb  with  an  awful,  wordless  woe,  we  waited  for  its 
death  ; 

And  though  I'm  not  a  pious  man,  our  souls  together 
there. 

For  Heaven  to  spare  our  darling,  went  up  in  voiceless 
prayer. 

And  when  the  doctor  said  'twould  live,   our  joy   what 

words  could  tell  ! 
Clasped  in  each  other's  arms  our  grateful  tears  together 

fell. 
Sometimes,  you  see,  the  Bhadow  fell  across  our  little  nest, 
But  it  only  made  tiie  suuHliiue  seem  a  doubly  welcome 

guest. 

Work  came  to  me  a  plenty,  and  I  kept  the  anvil  ringing. 
Early  and  late  you'd    find    me    there,  a-hammering   and 

singing. 
Love  nerved  ray  arm  to  labor,  and  moved  my  tongue  to 

song  ; 
And  though  my  singing  wasn't  sweet,  it  was  almighty 

strong. 


THE   BLACKSMIXn's   STORY.  227 

One  day  a  onc-avmcd  stranger  stopped  to  Iiavc  me  nail  a 
shoe";       m 

And  while  1  was  at  woi'k,  we  passed  a  compliment  or 
two. 

I  asked  him  how  he  lost  his  arm.  lie  said  'twas  shot 
away 

At  Malvern  Hill.  "At  Malvern  Hill  !  Did  you  know- 
Robert  May  ?  " 

"  That's  me  !  "  said  he.  "  You  !  you  !  "  I  gasped,  chok- 
ing with  horrid  doubt ; 

"  If  you're  a  man,  just  follow  me  ;  we'll  try  this  mystery 
out." 

With  dizzy  steps  I  led  him  to  Mary.     God !     'Twas  true ! 

Then  the  bitterest  pangs  of  misery  unspeakable  I  knew. 

Frozen  with  deadly  horror,  she  stared  with  eyes  of  stone, 

And  from  her  quivering  lips  there  broke  one  wild,  despair- 
ing moan. 

'Twas  he  !  the  husband  of  her  youth,  new  risen  from  the 
dead  ; 

But  all  too  late!  And.  with  that  bitter  cry  her  senses 
fled. 

What  could  be  done  ?     He  was  reported  dead.     On  his 

return 
He   strove   in   vain   some   tidings  of  his   absent  wife  to 

learn. 
'Twas  well  that  he  was   innocent,  else   I'd  have  killed 

him  too, 
So  dead  he  never  would  have  rose  till  Gabriel's  trumpet 

blew  ! 

It  was  agreed  that  Mary  between  us  should  decide. 
And  each  by  her  decision  would  sacredly  abide. 
No  sinner  at  the  Judgment-Seat,  waiting  eternal  doom, 
Could  suffer  what  I  did  while  waiting  sentence  in  that 
room. 


228  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Rigid  and  brcatlilcss  tlicrc  wo  stood,  with  nerves  as  tense 

as  steel,  Vi 

Wliile  Mary's  eyes  sought  each  white  face   in   piteous 

appeal. 
God  !     Could  not  woman's  duty  be  less  hardly  reconciled 
Between  her  lawful  husband  and  the  father  of  her  child  ? 

Ah,  how  my  heart  was  chilled  to   ice   when   she  knelt 

down  and  said, 
"  Forgive  me,  John  !    lie  is  my  husband  !    Ilere  !    Alive  ! 

not  dead  !  " 
I  raised  her  tenderly,  and  tried  to  tell  her  she  was  right ; 
But  somehow  in   my  aching  breast  the  prisoned  words 

stuck  tight  ! 

"  But,  John,  I  can't  leave  baby  —  "    "  What !  Wife  and 

child  !  "  cried  I  ; 
"  Must  I  yield  all  ?     Ah,  cruel  !     Better  that  I  should 

die'! 
Think  of  the  long,  sad,  lonely  hours  waiting  in   gloom 

for  me  — 
No  wife  to  cheer  me  with  her  love  —  no  babe  to  climb 

my  knee  ! 

"And  yet — *you  are  her  mother;  and  the  sacred  mother- 
love 

Is  still  the  purest,  tenderest  tie  that  Heaven  ever  wove. 

Take  her;  but  promise,  Mary,  —  for  that  will  be  no 
shame,  — 

My  little  girl  shall  bear,  and  learn  to  lisp,  her  father's 
name." 

It  may  be  in  the  life  to  come  I'll  meet  my  child  and  wife ; 
But  yonder,  by  my  cottage  gate,  we  parted  for  this  life. 
One  long  liand-clasp  from   Mary,  and  my  dream  of  love 

was  done  ! 
One   long   embrace   from   baby,  and   my   happiness  was 

gone  I 

Fbakk  Clivk. 


NAMING   Tin:   CHICKENS.  229 


NAMING   THK   CHICKENS. 

THERE  were  two  little  chickens  hatched  out  by  one  hen, 
And  the  owner  of  both  was  our  little  boy  Ben  ; 
So  he  set  him  to  work,  as  soon  as  they  came, 
To  make  them  a  house  and  find  them  a  name. 

As  for  buildiiif^  a  house,  Benny  knew  very  well 
Tluit  he  couldn't  do  that ;  but  his  big  brother  IMiil 
Must  be  handy  at  tools,  i"or  lie'd  been  to  collcg-e, 
Where  boys  are  supposed  to  learn  all  sorts  of  knowledge. 

Phil  was  very  good-natured,  and  soon  his  small  brotlicr 
Had  a  nice  cosy  home  for  his  chicks  and  their  mother  ; 
And  a  liappier  boy  in  the  country  just  then 
Could  not  have  been  found  than  our  dear  little  Ben. 

But  a  name  for  his  pets  it  was  harder  to  find. 
At  least  such  as  suited  exactly  his  mind  ; 
No  mother  of  twins  was  ever  more  haunted 
With  trouble  to  find  just  the  ones  that  she  wanted. 

There  were  plenty  of  names,  no  doubt  about  that. 
But  a  name  that  would  do  for  a  dog  or  a  cat 
Would  not  answer  for  chickens  so  pretty  as  these  ; 
Or  else  our  dear  boy  was  not  easy  to  please. 

These  two  tiny  chickens  looked  just  like  cacli  other  : 
To  name  them  so  young  would  be  only  a  bother. 
But  with  one  in  each  hand,  said  queer  little  Ben, 
"  I  want  this  one  a  rooster  and  that  one  a  hen." 

Benny  knew  them  apart  by  a  little  brown  spot 
On  the  head  of  the  one  that  tlie  other  had  not ; 
They  grew  up  like  magic,  each  fat  feathered  chick  ; 
One  at  length  was  named  Pegg}',  aud  the  other  named 
Dick. 


230  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Benny  watched  them  so  closely,  not  a  feather  conld  grow 
III  the  dress  of  those  chickens  that  he  did  not  know  ; 
And  he  taught  them  so  well,  they  would  march  at  com- 
mand, 
Fly  up  on  his  shoulder,  or  eat  from  his  hand. 

But  a  funny  thing  happened  concerning  their  names. 
Rushing  into  the  house  one  day,  Benny  exclaims, 
"  0  mother!  0  Phil !  such  a  blunder  there's  been. 
For  Feggy's  the  rooster,  and  Dick  is  the  hen!  " 

Mks.  L.  B.  Bacon. 


THE   ADVERTISEMENT   ANSWERED. 

GOOD   mornin'  til  yez,  yer  honor  !     And  are  yez  the 
gintlemon 
As  advertised,  in  the  paper,  fur  an  active,  intilligint 
b'y? 
Y'  are  ?     Thin  I've  brought  him  along  wid  me,  —  a  raal, 
fine  sprig  iv  a  wan  :  — 
As  likely  a  b'y  iv  his  age,  sur,  as  iver  ye'd  wish  ti  em- 

pi'y. 

That's  him.     Av  coorse  I'm  his  mother  1     Yez  can  see 
his  resimblance  til  me, 
Fur  ivery  wan  iv  liis  .faytures,  and  mine,  are  alike  as 
two  paze,  — 
Barrin'  wan  iv  his  hivenly  eyes,  which  he  lost  in  a  bit  iv 
a  spree 
Wid    Ilociligan's    b'y,  which    intindcd    to    larrup    me 
Teddy  with  aizc  ; 

And  his  taythe,  which  hung  out  on  his  lip,  like  a  pair  iv 
big,  sliinin',  twin  pearls. 
Till  wan  iv  thiin  taytlie    was   removed   by  the  fut  iv  a 
cow  he  was  tazin'  ; 


THE   ADVERTISEMENT    ANSWERED.  231 

And  his  hair,  that  vvc    niver  cu'd    comb,  along^  iv   bewil- 
derin'  curls, 
So  wo  kapc  it  cropped  short  to  save  combin',  and  that 
makes  our  intcrcoorse  jjlazin'. 


And  is  it  rid-hcadcd  ye  call   him  ?     Belike   ho  is  foxy, 
is  Ted, 
And  g-oold-colored  hair  is  becomin'  til  thirn  that's  com- 
plicted  wid  blonde  ! 
But  who   cares  fur  color  ?     Sure  contiuts   out-vally  the 
rest  iv  the  head  ! 
And  Ted  has  a  head  full  iv  contints,  as  lively  as  t'hrout 
in  a  pond ! 

Good-timpered  ?      Sure   niver    a    bett'her. —  The   peace- 
ablest,  quietest  lamb 
As  lives  the  whole  liu'th  iv  our  st'hrate,  where  the  b'ys 
is  that  kano  fur  a  row 
That  Ted  has   to   fight  iv'ry  day,  though  he'd  quarrel  no 
more  than  a  clam  — 
Faith,  thim  b'ys  'ud  provoke  the  swate  angels  in  hivcn 
to  fight  onyhow  ! 

Thim   Ilooligan  b'ys   is   that  d'hirty,    they  have   to   be 
washed  wanst  a  wake  :  — 
Faith,    Hooligan  finds  it  couvauient  to  live  down  fer- 
ninst  the  canall 
Where  the  wat'her  fur  scrubbin'  the  mud   off  his  chil- 
d'hers  is  not  far  til  sake,  — 
But   Teddy  is  always   that  nate   that  he   niver  nades 
washin'  at  all  1 

Can  he  rade  ?     Sure,  me  Ted  has  the  makin'  iv  a  beautiful 
rader,  indade. 
And    lairn't    all    the    lett'liers;.    but    twiiity,    in    three 
months'  attiiidance  at  school  : 


232  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

But  the  mast'her  got  mad  at  mo  TedJy,  becasc  iv  a  joke 
that  was  played 
Wid  a  pin,  that  persuaded  the  mast'her  quite  suddint 
to  rise  from  his  stool. 

Teddy  niver  cu'd  plaze  that  schoolmast'her  wid  ony  iv 
thim  playful  t'hricks  ; 
So,  wid  liis  edication  unfinished,  Ted  found  it  convan- 
ient  to  lave. 
But,  barrin'  tlie   larnin',    I'll  match   him,    fur   kaneness, 
ferninst  ony  six. 
In    butt'hcrin'  paple    wid    blarney,    and    playin'   nate 
t'hricks   to  desave. 


Thim  Hooligan  b'ys  is  all  raders,  but  Teddy  jist  skins  'em 
alive  : 
AVid  their   marbles,   and   paynuts,    and   pennies,   iv'ry 
wan  iv  his  pockets  he'll  fill 
By  the  turn  iv  his  wrist,  ur  such  tactics  as  Teddy  knows 
how  til  contrive  :  — 
They'd   gladly  t'hrade  off  their  book-larnin'  for  Ted- 
dy's suparior  skill  ! 

Politeness  comes  aisy  til  Ted,  fur  he's  had  me  to  tache 
him  the  t'hrick 
Iv  bowin'    and   spakiu'  and    scrapin'    to    show  paple 
proper  respict. 
Spake  up  til   the  gintlemon,   Teddy  !     Whist !     Aff  wid 
your  cap  first,  yo  stick ! 
He's    shapish   a   t'hriflo,   yer  honor;    he's   alius  been 
brought  up  that  strict. 

Come!     Spake  up  and    show   yer  foinc   bradin' !     Och  ! 
Hear  that !     "  How  are  yez,  Owld  Moke?  " 
Arrah,    millia   inurther  !     Did    over  yez   hear  jist  the 
aqual  iv  that  ? 


THE    ADVERTTSEMEXT    ANSWEHED.  233 

"  IIow    are    yez,    Owld    Moke  ?  "  says    he.      Ila  !    lia  ! 
Sure,  yer  honor,  lie  manes  it  in  j<jke  ! 
He's  the  playfuUest  b'y  !     Faith  it's'laughiu'  at  Teddy 
that  makes  me  so  fat. 


Ilonest  ?     Troth,  he  is  that !     He's  that  honest,  he  was 
niver  tuk  by  tlio  perlace, 
Barrin'  wanst  that  Owld  Hooligan  swore  that  Teddy 
had  stole  his  b'y's  knife 
Wid    divil   a  blade.       And   the   jidge   he  remarked  wid 
contimpt,  'twas  the  t'hriflinest  case 
To  bod'her  a  dignified  Coort  wid,  ho  iver  had  known 
in  his  life  ! 

Yez  can  t'hrust  him  wid  onything.     Honest !     Does  he 
luk  like  a  b'y  that  'iid  stale  ? 
Jist  luk  in  the  swate,  open  face  iv  him,  barrin'  the  eye 
Avid  the  wink  :  — 
Och  !     Teddy  ! !     Phat  ugly  black  st'hrame  is  it  runnia' 
down  there  by  yer  hale  !  .   .   , 
Murtheration  !     Yer  honor,   me  Teddy  has  spilt  yer 
fine  bottle  iv  ink  !  ! 


Phat?     How.  kcm  the  ink  in  his  pocket?     I'm  thinkin' 
he  borry'd  it,  sur  :  — 
And  yez  saw  him  pick  up  yer  pen-howlder  and  stick 
it  inside  iv  his  slave  ! 
And  yez  think  that  Teddy  mint  til  purline  'em  !  !     Ah  I 
wirra !  the  likes  iv  that  slur 
Will    d'hrive    me  —  poor,    tinder,    lone   widdy  —  wid 
Borrovr  down  until  me  grave  ! 

Bad  'cess  til  yez,  Teddy,  ye  spalpeen  !    Why  c'udn't  yez 
howld  on,  the  day  — 
Ye  thafe  iv  the  Avorld  !  —  widout  breakin'  the  heart  iv 
me  ?     No.      Yez  mud  stale  ! 


234  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

I'll   tache   ye   a  t'hrick,  ye  rid-headed,  pilferin',  gimlet- 
eyed  flay  !  — 
Ye    freckle-faced,   impident   bla'g-uard  !  —  Och  !  wliin 
we  get  home,  yez'U  squale  ! 

Frank  M.  Tuokn,  In  Scriimer's  Afagazine. 


LOVE   IN   A   BALLOON. 

COME  time  ago  I  was  staying  with  Sir  George 
^  Flasher,  with  a  great  number  of  people  there  — 
all  kinds  of  amusements  going  on.  Driving,  riding, 
fishing,  shooting,  everything,  in  fact.  Sir  George's 
daughter,  Fanny,  was  often  my  companion  in  these 
expeditions,  and  I  was  considerably  struck  with  her, 
for  she  was  a  girl  to  whom  the  epithet  ''stunning" 
applies  better  than  any  other  that  I  am  acquainted 
■with.  She  could  ride  like  Nimrod,  she  could  drive 
like  Jehu,  she  could  row  like  Charon,  she  could  dance 
like  Terpsichore,  she  could  row  like  Diana,  she  walked 
like  Juno,  and  she  looked  like  Venus.  I've  even 
seen  her  smoke. 

O,  she  was  a  stunner  !  You  should  have  heard  that 
girl  whistle,  and  laugh  —  you  should  have  heard  her 
laugh.  She  was  truly  a  delightful  companion.  We 
rode  together,  drove  together,  fished  together,  walked 
together,  danced  together,  sang  together ;  I  called  her 
Fanny,  and  she  called  me  Tom.  All  this  could  have 
but  one  termination,  you  know.  I  fell  in  love  with 
her,  and  determined  to  take  the  first  opportunity  of 
proposing.  So,  one  day,  when  we  were  out  together, 
•  fishing  on  the  lake,  I  went  down  on  my  knees  amongst 


LOVE   IN    A    BALLOON.  235 


i) 


the  gudgeons,  seized  her  liand,  pressed  it  to  my  waist- 
coat, and  in  burning  accents  entreated  lier  to  bccomo 
my  wife. 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  she  said.  "  Now  drop  it,  do,  and 
put  me  a  fresh  worm  on," 

"  0,  Fanny  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  don't  talk  about  worms 
when  marriage  is  in  question.     Only  say  —  " 

"  I  tell  YOU  what  it  is,  now,"  she  replied,  angrily  : 
"  if  you  don't  drop  it,  I'll  pitch  you  out  of  the  boat." 

Gentlemen,  I  did  not  drop  it,  and  I  give  you  my 
Avord  of  honor,  with  a  sudden  shove  she  sent  me  fly- 
ing into  the  water ;  then,  seizing  the  sculls,  with  a 
stroke  or  two  she  put  several  yards  1)et\veen  us,  and 
burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  fortunately  prevented 
her  from  going  further.  I  swam  up,  and  climbed  into 
the  boat.  "Jenkins,"  said  I  to  myself,  ''revenge! 
revenge  1"  I  disguised  my  feelings.  I  laughed  — 
hideous  mockery  of  mirth — I  laughed,  pulled  to  the 
bank,  went  to  the  house,  and  changed  my-  clothes. 
When  I  appeared  at  the  dinner-table,  I  perceived  that 
every  one  had  been  informed  of  my  ducking.  Uni- 
versal laughter  greeted  me.  During  dinner,  Fanny 
repeatedly  whispered  to  her  neighbor,  and  glanced 
at  me.  Smothered  laughter  invariably  followed. 
"Jenkins,"  said  I,  "revenge!"  The  opportunity 
soon  offered.  There  was  to  be  a  balloon  ascent  from 
the  lawn,  and  Fanny  had  tormented  her  father  into 
letting  her  ascend  with  the  aeronaut.  I  instantly  took 
my  plans ;  bribed  the  aeronaut  to  plead  illness  at  the 
moment  when  the  machine  should  have  risen ;  learned 
from  him  the  management  of  the  balloon,  though  I 
understood  that  pretty  well  before,  and  calmly  awaited 
the  result.     The  day  came.     The  weather  was  fine. 


236  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

The  balloon  was  inflated.  Fanny  was  in  the  car. 
Everything  was  ready,  when  the  aeronaut  suddenly 
fainted.  He  was  carried  into  the  house,  and  Sir 
George  accompanied  me.     Fanny  was  in  despair. 

"  Am  I  to  lose  my  air  expedition  ?  "  she  exclaimed, 
looking  over  the  side  of  the  car;  ''some  one  under- 
stands the  management  of  this  thing,  surely?  No- 
body !  Tom  1 "  she  called  out  to  me,  "  you  understand 
it  — don't  you?" 

"  Perfectly,"  I  answered. 

"  Come  along,  then,"  she  cried  ;  "  be  quick,  before 
papa  comes  back." 

The  company  in  general  endeavored  to  dissuade  her 
from  her  project,  but  of  course  in  vain.  After  a  de- 
cent show  of  hesitation,  I  climbed  into  the  car.  The 
balloon  was  cast  off,  and  rapidly  sailed  heavenward. 
There  was  scarcely  a  breath  of  wind,  and  we  rose 
almost  straight  up.  We  rose  above  the  house,  and 
she  laughed  and  said,  "  How  jolly  !  " 

We  were  higher  than  the  highest  trees,  and  she 
smiled,  and  said  it  was  very  kind  of  me  to  come  with 
her.  We  were  so  high  that  the  people  below  looked 
mere  specks,  and  she  hoped  that  1  thoroughly  under- 
stood the  management  of  the  balloon.  Now  Avas  my 
time. 

"  I  understand  the  going  up  part,"  I  answered ;  "  to 
come  down  is  not  so  easy ; "  and  I  whistled. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Why,  when  you  want  to  go  up  faster,  you  throw 
some  sand  overboard,"  1  replied,  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word. 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  Tom,"  she  said,  trying  to  appear 
quite  calm  and  indifferent,  but  trembling  uncommonly. 


LOVE   IN   A    BALLOON.  237 

"  Foolish  !  "  I  said.  "  0  dear,  no  ;  but  whether  I  go 
aloug-  the  ground  or  up  in  tho  air,  I  like  to  gt)  the  pace, 
and  60  do  you,  Fanny,  I  know.  Go  it,  you  cripples  ! " 
and  over  went  another  sand-bag. 

"  Why,  you're  mad,  surely,"  she  whispered,  in  utter 
terror,  and  tried  to  reach  the  bags,  but  I  kept  her 
back. 

"  Only  with  love,  my  dear,"  I  answered,  smiling 
pleasantly ;  "  only  with  love  for  you.  0,  Fanny,  I 
adore  you  1     Say  you  will  be  my  wife." 

"  I  gave  you  an  answer  the  other  day,"  she  replied  ; 
"  one  which  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have 
remembered,"  she  added,  laughing  a  little,  notwith- 
standing her  terror. 

"  I  remember  it  perfectly,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  I  in- 
tend to  have  a  different  reply  from  that.  You  see  those 
five  sand-bags.  I  shall  ask  you  five  times  to  become 
my  wife.  Every  time  you  refuse  I  shall  throw  over 
a  sand-bag;  so,  lady  fair,  as  the  cabmen  would  say, 
reconsider  your  decision,  and  consent  to  become  Mrs» 
Jenkins." 

"  I  won't,"  she  said  ;  "  I  never  will ;  and  let  me  tell 
you  that  you  are  acting  in  a  very  ungeiitlemanly  way 
to  press  me  thus." 

"  You  acted  in  a  very  ladylike  way  the  other  day, 
did  you  not,"  I  rejoined,  "  when  you  knocked  me  out 
of  the  boat  ? "  She  laughed  again,  for  she  was  a 
plucky  girl,  and  no  mistake  —  a  very  j)lucky  girl. 
"  However,"  I  went  on,  "  it's  no  good  arguing  about 
it :  will  you  promise  to  give  mo  your  hand  ?  "' 

"Never!"  she  answered;  "I'll  go  to  Ursa  Major 
first,  though  I've  got  a  big  enough  bear  here,  in  all 
conscience.  Stay  !  you'd  prefer  Aquarius,  wouldn't 
you  ?  " 


238  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

She  looked  so  pretty  that  I  was  almost  inclined  to 
let  her  oil".  (I  was  only  trying  to  frighten  her,  of 
course  :  I  knew  how  high  we  could  go  safely,  well 
enougli,  and  liow  valuable  the  life  of  Jenkins  was  to 
his  country);  but  resolution  is  one  of  the  strong  points 
of  my  character,  and  when  I've  begun  a  thing,  I  like 
to  carry  it  through  ;  so  I  threw  over  another  sand-bag, 
and  whistled  the  Dead  March  in  Saul. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Jenkins,"  she  said,  suddenly,  —  "  come, 
Tom,  let  us  descend  now,  and  I'll  promise  to  say 
nothing  whatever  about  all  this." 

I  continued  the  execution  of  the  Dead  March. 

"  But  if  you  do  not  begin  the  descent  at  once,  I'll 
tell  papa  the  moment  I  set  foot  on  the  ground." 

I  laughed,, seized  another  bag,  and,  looking  steadily 
at  her,  said,  "  Will  you  promise  to  give  me  your 
hand?" 

"  I've  answered  you  already,"  Avas  the  reply. 

Over  went  the  sand,  and  the  solemn  notes  of  the 
Dead  March  resounded  through  the  car. 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  gentleman,"  said  Fanny, 
rising  up  in  a  terrible  rage  from  the  bottom  of  the 
car,  where  she  had  been  sitting,  and  looking  perfectly 
beautiful  in  her  wrath.  "  I  tliought  you  were  a  gen- 
tleman, but  I  find  I  Avas  mistaken.  Why,  a  chimney- 
sweeper would  not  treat  a  lady  in  such  a  way.  Do 
you  know  that  you  are  risking  your  own  life  as  well  as 
mine  by  your  madness  ?  " 

I  explained  that  I  adored  her  so  much  that  to  die  in 
her  company  would  l)e  perfect  bliss,  so  that  I  begged 
she  would  not  consider  my  feelings  at  all.  She  dashed 
her  beautiful  hair  from  her  face,  and  standing  per- 
fectly erect,  looking  like  the   Goddess  of  Anger  or 


LOVE   IN    A   BALLOON.  239 

Boadicea, —  if  you  can  imagine  that  personage  in  a 
balloon,  —  she  said,  "I  comnumd  you  to  begin  the  de- 
scent this  instant ! " 

The  Dead  March,  whistled  in  a  manner  essentially 
gay  and  lively,  was  the  only  response.  After  a  few 
minutes'  silence  I  took  up  another  bag,  and  said,  — 

''  We  are  getting  rather  high.  If  you  do  not  decide 
soon,  we  shall  have  Mercury  coming  to  tell  us  that  we 
are  trespassing.     Will  you  promise  me  your  hand  ?  " 

She  sat  in  sulky  silence  in  the  bottom  of  the  car. 
I  threw  over  the  sand.  Then  she  tried  another  plan. 
Throwing  herself  upon  her  knees,  and  bursting  into 
tears,  she  said,  — 

"  0,  forgive  me  for  what  I  did  the  other  day.  It 
was  very  wrong,  and  I  am  very  sorry.  Take  me 
home,  and  I  will  be  a  sister  to  you." 

"  Not  a  wife  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  can't  !   I  can't  !  "  she  answered. 

Over  went  the  fourth  bag,  and  I  began  to  tliiuk  she 
would  beat  me  after  all,  for  I  did  not  like  the  idea  of 
going  much  higher.  I  would  not  give  in  just  yet, 
however.  I  whistled  for  a  few  moments,  to  give  her 
time  for  reflection,  and  then  said,  "  Fanny,  they  say 
that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  ;  if  you  do  not  take 
care,  ours  will  be  solemnized  there." 

I  took  up  the  fifth  bag.  "  Come,"  I  said,  "  my  wife 
in  life,  or  my  companion  in  death.  Which  is  it  to  be  ?" 
and  I  petted  the  sand-bag  in  a  cheerful  inanneT.  She 
held  her  face  in  her  hands,  but  did  not  answer.  I 
nursed  the  bag  in  my  arms  as  if  it  had  been  a  baby. 

''  Come,  Fanny,  give  me  your  promise."  I  could 
hear  her  sobs.  I'm  the  softest-hearted  creature 
breathing,  and  would  not  pain  any  living  thing,  and 


240  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

I  confess  she  had  beaten  me.  I  forgave  her  the  duck- 
ing ;  I  forgave  her  for  rejecting  me.  I  was  on  the 
point  of  flinging  the  .bag  back  into  the  car,  and  say- 
ing, "  Dearest  Fanny,  forgive  me  for  frightening  you. 
Marry  whomsoever  you  wish.  Give  your  lovely  hand 
to  the  lowest  groom  in  your  stables ;  endow  with 
your  priceless  beauty  the  chief  of  the  Panki-wanki 
Indians.  Whatever  happens,  Jenkins  is  your  slave  — 
your  dog  —  your  footstool.  His  duty,  henceforth,  is 
to  go  whithersoever  you  shall  order,  to  do  whatever 
you  shall  command."  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  say- 
ing this,  I  repeat,  when  Fanny  suddenly  looked  up,  and 
said,  with  a  queerish  expression  upon  her  face,  — 

"  You  need  not  throw  that  last  bag  over.  I  promise 
to  give  you  my  hand." 

"  With  all  your  heart  ?  "  I  asked,  quickly. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  she  answered,  with  the  same 
strange  look. 

I  tossed  the  bag  into  the  bottom  of  the  car,  and 
opened  the  valve."  The  balloon  descended.  Gentle- 
men, will  you  believe  it  ?  —  when  we  had  reached  the 
ground,  and  the  balloon  had  been  given  over  to  its  re- 
covered master  —  when  I  had  helped  Fanny  tenderly 
to  the  earth,  and  turned  towards  her  to  receive  anew 
the  promise  of  her  affection  and  her  hand,  —  will  you 
believe  it  ?  —  she  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear  that  upset 
me  against  the  car,  and,  running  to  her  father,  who 
at  tliat  moment  came  up,  she  related  to  him  and  the 
assembled  company  what  she  called  my  disgraceful 
conduct  in  the  balloon,  and  ended  by  informing  me 
that  all  of  her  hand  that  I  was  likely  to  get  had  been 
already  bestowed  upon  my  car,  which  she  assured  me 
had  been  given  with  all  her  heart. 


tom's  come  home.  241 

"  You  villain  ! "  said  Sir  George,  advancing  towards 
me  with  a  horsewhip  in  his  hand.  "  You  villain ! 
I've  a  good  mind  to  break  this  over  your  back." 

"  Sir  George,"  said  I,  "  villain  and  Jenkins  must 
never  be  coupled  in  the  same  sentence  ;  and  as  for  tho 
breaking  of  this  whip,  I'll  relieve  you  of  the  trouble  ; '' 
and  snatching  it  from  his  hand,  I  broke  it  in  two,  and 
threw  the  pieces  on  the  ground.  "  And  now  I  shall 
have  the  honor  of  wishing  you  a  good  morning.  Miss 
Flasher,  I  forgive  you;"  and  I  retired.  Now,  I  ask 
you  whether  any  specimen  of  female  treachery  equal 
to  that  has  ever  come  within  your  experience,  and 
whether  any  excuse  can  be  made  for  such  conduct  ? 

LlTCllFIELO    MoSELEr. 


TOM'S   COME   HOME. 

TTnTII  its  heavily  rocking  and  swinging  load, 
V\     The  stage-coach  rolls  up  the  mountain  road. 
The  mowers  lean  on  their  scythes  and  say, 
"  Hallo  !  what  brings  Big  George  this  way  ?  " 
Tho  children  climb  the  slats,  and  wait 
To  see  him  drive  past  the  door-yard  gate  ; 
When,  four  in  liand,  sedate  and  grand, 
He  brings  the  old  craft  like  a  ship  to  land. 
At  the  window,  mild  grandmotherly  eyes 
Beam  from  their  glasses  with  quaint  surprise, 
Grow  wide  with  wonder,  and  guess,  and  doubt ; 
Then  a  quick,  half-stifled  voice  shrieks  out, 
"  Tom  !     Tom's  come  home  !  " 

The  face  at  the  casement  disappears, 
To  shine  at  the  door,  all  joy  and  tears. 
As  a  traveller,  dusty  and  bearded  and  browu, 
Over  the  wheel  steps  lightly  down. 
16 


242  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Well,  mother  1  "      "  My  son  I  "     And  to  his  breast 
A  forward-tottering  form  is  pressed. 
She  lies  there,  and  cries  there  ;  now  at  arm's-length 
Admires  his  manly  size  and  strength 
(While  he  wink^  hard  one  misty  eye) ; 
Then  calls  to  the  youngsters  staring  nigh  — 
"  Quick  !  go  for  your  gran'ther  !  run,  boys,  run  ! 
Tell  him  your  uncle — tell  him  his  son  — 
Our  Tom's  come  home  !  " 

The  stage-coach  waits  ;  but  little  cares  she 
What  faces  pleasantly  smile  to  see 
Her  jostled  glasses  and  tumbled  cap. 
Big  George's  hands  the  trunk  unstrap 
And  bear  it  in  ;  while  two  light-heeled 
Young  Mercuries  fly  to  the  mowing  field. 
And  shriek  and  beckon,  and  meet  half-way 
The  old  gran'ther,  lame  and  gaunt  and  gray, 
Coat  on  arm,  half  in  alarm, 
Striding  over  the  stony  farm. 
The  good  news  clears  his  cloudy  face, 
And  he  cries,  as  he  quickens  his  anxious  pace, 
"  Tom  ?     Tom  come  home  ?  " 

With  twitching  cheek  and  quivering  lid 
(A  soft  heart  under  the  hard  lines  hid), 
And  "  Turn,  how  d'e  do  ?  "  in  a  husky  voice, 
He  grasps  with  rough,  strong  hand  the  boy's  — 
A  boy's  no  more.      "  I  shouldn't  have  known 
That  beard."     While  Tom's  fine  barytone 
Rolls  out  from  his  deep  chest  cheerily, 
"  You're  hale  as  ever,  I'm  glad  to  see." 
In  the  low  back  porch  the  mother  stands. 
And  rubs  her  glasses  with  trembling  hands. 
And,  smiling  with  eyes  that  blear  and  blink, 
Chimes  in,  "  I  never  I  "   and  "  Only  think  1 
Our  Tom's  come  home  !  " 


TOM  'S   COME   HOME.  243 

With  question  and  joke  and  anecdote, 
He  brushes  his  hat,  they  dust  his  coat, 
While  all  the  household  gathers  near : 
Tanned  urchins  eager  to  see  and  hear. 
And  large-eyed,  dark-eyed,  shy  young  mother, 
Widow  of  Tom's  unlucky  brother, 
AVho  turned  out  ill,  and  was  drowned  at  the  mill  : 
The  stricken  old  people  mourn  him  still, 
And  the  hope  of  their  lives  in  him  undone  ; 
But  grief  for  the  dissolute  ruined  son  — 
Their  best-beloved  and  oldest  boy  — 
Is  all  forgotten,  or  turned  to  joy. 
Now  Tom  's  come  home. 

Yet  Tom  was  never  the  favored  child, 
Though  Tom  was  steady,  and  Will  was  wild  ; 
But  often  his  own  and  his  brother's  share 
Of  blows  and  blame  he  was  forced  to  bear ; 
Till  at  last  he  said,  "  Here  is  no  room 
For  both  —  I  go  !"     Now  he  to  whom 
Scant  grace  was  shown  has  proved  the  one 
Large-hearted,  upright,  trusty  son  ; 
And  well  may  the  old  folks  joy  to  find 
His  brow  so  frank  and  his  eye  so  kind, 
No  shadow  of  all  the  past  allowed 
To  trouble  the  present  hour,  or  cloud 
Ilis  welcome  home. 

nis  trunk  unlocked,  the  lid  he  lifts. 

And  lays  out  curious,  costly  gifts  ; 

For  Ton>has  prospered  since  he  went 

Into  his  long  self-banishment. 

Each  youngster's  glee,  as  he  hugs  his  share, 

The  widow's  surprise,  and  the  old  folks'  air 

Of  affectionate  pride  in  a  son  so  good. 

Thrill  him  with  generous  gratitude. 

And  he  thinks,  "  Am  I  that  lonely  lad 

Who  went  off  friendless,  poor,  and  sad, 


244  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

That  dismal  day,  from  my  father's  door  ?  " 
And  can  it  bo  true  he  is  here  once  more 
In  his  cliildliood's  home  ? 

'Tis  hard  to  think  of  his  brother  dead, 
And  a  widow  and  orphans  here  in  his  stead  — 
So  little  seems  chang-ed  since  they  were  young  1 
The  row  of  pegs  where  the  hats  were  hung ; 
The  checkered  chimney  and  hearth  of  bricks  ; 
The  sober  old  clock  with  its  lonesome  ticks, 
And  shrill,  loud  chime  for  the  flying  time ; 
The  stairs  the  bare  feet  used  to  climb, 
Tom  chasing  his  wild  bedfellow  Will ; 
And  there  is  the  small  low  bedroom  still, 
And  the  table  he  had  when  a  little  lad : 
Ah,  Tom,  does  it  make  you  sad  or  glad. 
This  coming  home  ? 

Tom's  heart  is  moved.     "  Now  don't  mind  me  ! 
1  am  no  stranger  guest,"  cries  he. 
"  And,  father,  I  say  !  "  —  with  the  old-time  laugh 
"  Don't  kill  for  me  any  fatted  calf! 
But  go  now  and  show  me  the  sheep  and  swine, 
And  the  cattle  —  where  is  that  colt  of  mine  ?  — 
And  the  farm  and  crops  —  is  harvest  over  ? 
I'd  like  a  chance  at  the  oats  and  clover  ! 
I  can  mow,  you'll  find,  and  cradle  and  bind. 
Load  hay,  stow  away,  pitch,  rake  behind  ; 
For  I  know  a  scythe  from  a  well-sweep  yet. 
In  an  hour  I'll  make  you  quite  forget 
That  I've  been  from  home." 

ITe  plucks  from  its  peg  an  old  farm  hat. 
And  with  cordial  (;liat  upon  tliis  and  that, 
Tom  walks  with  liis  father  about  the  place. 
There's  a  pensive  grace  in  his  fine  young  face 
As  they  loiter  under  the  orchard  trees, 
As  he  breathes  once  more  the  mountain  breeze. 


TOM'S   COME   HOME.  245 

And  looks  from  the  hill-side  far  uwuy, 
Over  pasture  and  fallow,  and  licld  of  hay, 
To  the  hazy  peaks  of  the  azure  rang-c, 
Which  change  forever,  yet  never  cliange  ; 
The  wild  sweet  winds  his  welcome  blow  : 
Even  old  Monadnock  seems  to  know 
Tliat  Tom  's  come  home. 

The  old  man  stammers  and  speaks  at  last : 
"  You  notice  your  mother  is  failing  fast, 
Tiiough  she  can't  see  it.     Poor  Will's  disgrace 
And  debts,  and  the  mortgage  on  the  place  ; 
His  sudden  death  —  'Twas  a  dreadful  blow  ; 
She  couldn't  bear  up  like  a  man,  you  know. 
She's  talked  of  you  since  the  trouble  came  : 
Some  things  in  the  past  she  seems  to  blame 
Herself  for;   what,  it  is  hard  to  tell. 
I  marvel  how  she  keeps  round  so  well, 
For  often  all  night  she  lies  awake. 
I'm  thankful,  if  only  for  her  sake, 
That  you've  come  home." 

They  visit  the  field  :   Tom  mows  with  the  men  ; 
And  now  they  come  round  to  the  porch  again. 
The  mother  draws  Tom  aside  ;  lets  sink 
Her  voice  to  a  whisper,  and —  "  What  do  you  think  ? 
You  see,"  she  says,  "  he  is  broken  quite. 
Sometimes  he  tosses  and  groans  all  night, 
And  —  Tom,  it  is  hard,  it  is  hard  indeed! 
The  mortgage,  and  so  many  mouths  to  feed  ! 
But  tell  him  he  must  not  worry  so, 
And  work  so  hard,  for  he  don't  know 
That  he  hasn't  the  strength  of  a  younger  man. 
Counsel  him,  comfort  him,  all  you  can, 
While  you're  at  home." 

Tom's  heart  is  full ;  ho  moves  away, 
And  ponders  what  he  will  do  or  say. 


246  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  now  at  evening  all  are  met, 
The  tea  is  drawn,  the  table  set ; 
But  when  the  old  man  with  bended  head, 
In  reverent,  fervent  tones  has  said 
The  opening  phrase  of  his  simple  grace, 
lie  falters,  the  tears  course  down  his  face ; 
For  the  words  seem  cold,  and  the  sense  of  the  old 
Set  form  is  too  weak  his  joy  to  hold  ; 
And  broken  accents  best  express 
The  upheaved  heart's  deep  thankfulness, 
Now  Tom's  come  home. 

The  supper  done,  Tom  has  his  say: 
"I  heard  of  some  matters  first  to-day; 
And  I  call  it  a  shame  — •  you're  both  to  blame  — 
That  a  son,  who  has  only  to  sign  his  name, 
To  lift  the  mortgage  and  clear  the  score. 
Should  never  have  had  tliat  chance  before. 
From  this  time  forth  you  are  free  from  care ; 
Your  troubles  I  share  ;  your  burdens  I  bear. 
So  promise  to  quit  hard  work,  and  say 
That  you'll  give  yourselves  a  holiday. 
Now,  father  1  now,  mother  !  you  can't  refuse  ; 
For  what's  a  son  for,  and  what's  the  use 
Of  his  coming  home  ?  " 

And  so  there  is  cheer  in  the  house  to-night. 
It  hardly  can  hold  so  much  delight. 
Tom  wanders  forth  across  the  lot, 
And,  under  the  stars  —  though  Tom  is  not 
So  pious  as  some  boys  have  been  — 
Thanks  Heaven,  that  turned  his  thoughts  from  sin, 
And  blessed  him,  and  brought  him  home  once  more. 
And  now  ho  knocks  at  a  cottage-door, 
For  one  who  has  waited  many  a  year 
In  hope  that  thrilling  sound  to  hear; 
Who,  happy  as  other  hearts  may  be, 
Knows  well  there  is  none  so  glad  as  she 
That  T(jm  's  come  home. 

J.  T.  Trowbridge. 


wyatt's  harangue.  247 


WYATT'S   HARANGUE   TO   THE   LONDON 

CROWD. 

MEN"  of  Kent ;  England  of  England  ;  you  that  havo 
kept  your  old  customs  upriglit,  while  all  the  rest 
of  England  bowed  theirs  to  tlie  Norman:  the  cause  that 
hath  brought  us  together  is  not  the  cause  of  a  county 
or  a  shire,  but  of  this  England,  in  whose  crown  our 
Kent  is  the  fairest  jeAvel.  Piiilip  shall  not  wed  Mary  ; 
and  ye  have  called  me  to  be  your  leader.  I  know 
Spain.  I  have  been  there  with  my  father ;  I  have 
seen  them  in  their  own  land ;  have  marked  the  haugh- 
tiness of  their  nobles,  the  cruelty  of  their  priests.  If 
this  man  marry  our  Queen,  however  the  Council  and 
the  Commons  may  fence  round  his  power  with  restric- 
tion, he  will  be  King,  King  of  England,  my  masters ; 
and  the  Queen,  and  the  laws,  and  the  people,  his  slaves. 
What?  shall  we  have  Spain  on  the  throne  and  in  the 
parliament ;  Spain  in  the  pulpit  and  on  the  law-bench ; 
Spain  in  all  the  great  offices  of  state  ;  Spain  in  our 
ships,  in  our  forts,  in  our  houses,  in  our  beds? 

But,  say  you,  must  we  levy  war  against  the  Queen's 
Grace  ? 

No,  my  friends;  war /or  the  Queen's  Grace — to 
save  her  from  herself  and  Philip  —  war  against  Spain. 
And  think  not  we  shall  be  alone  —  thousands  will  Hock 
to  us.  The  Council,  the  Court  itself,  is  on  our  side. 
The  Lord  Chancellor  himself  is  on  our  side.  The  King 
of  France  is  witli  us;  tlie  King  of  Denmark  is  with 
us;  the  world  is  with  us  —  war  against  Spain  !  And 
if  we  move  not  now,  yet  it  will  be   known  that  wo 


248  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

have  moved ;  and  if  Philip  come  to  be  King,  0,  my 
God  1  the  rope,  the  rack,  the  thumb-screw,  the  stake, 
the  fire.  If  we  move  not  now,  Spain  moves,  bribes 
our  nobles  with  lior  gold,  and  creeps,  creeps,  snake- 
like, about  our  legs  till  we  cannot  move  at  all;  and  ye 
know,  my  masters,  that  wherever  Spain  hath  ruled  she 
hatli  withered  all  beneath  her.  Look  at  the  New 
World  —  a  paradise  made  hell;  the  red  man,  that  good 
helpless  creature,  starved,  maimed,  flogged,  flayed, 
burned,  boiled,  buried  alive,  Avorried  by  dogs ;  and 
here,  nearer  home,  the  Netherlands,  Sicily,  Naples, 
Lombardy.  I  say  no  more  —  only  this,  their  lot  is 
yours.  Forward  to  London  with  me  !  forward  to  Lon- 
don !  If  ye  love  your  liberties  or  your  skins,  foi'ward 
to  London ! 

Tekntson. 


WAKING. 

IITyVVE  done  at  Icjigtli  witli  dreaming  ; 
Ileuccrurtli,  0  thou  soul  of  mine, 
Thou  must  take  up  sword  and  gauntlet, 

\V:igiiig  warfare  most  divine  I 
Life;  is  struggle,  combat,  victory  ; 

Wlierefore  liave  1  shimbercd  on, 
With  my  forces  all  unmarshalled, 
With  my  weapons  all  undrawn  ! 

0  how  iiiaii3'  a  glorious  record 
J  lad  the  angels  of  me  kept, 

Had  I  done  instead  of  doubted; 

Had  I  warred  instead  of  wept  1 
But  begone  regret  bewailing  ; 

Ye  but  weaken  at  the  best ; 

1  liave  tiled  the  trusty  weapons 

Kusting  erst  within  my  breast ; 


WAKINCJ.  249 

I  have  wakened  to  my  duty, 

To  a  kiiowledg-o,  strong-  and  deep, 
That  I  dreamed  not  of  aforetime, 

In  iny  long,  inglorious  sleep  ; 
For  to  live  is  something  awful, 

And  I  knew  it  n(jt  before  ; 
And  I  dreamed  not  how  stupendous 

Was  the  secret  that  1  bore,  — 
The  great,  deep,  mysterious  secret 

Of  a  life  to  be  wrought  out 
Into  warm,  heroic  action, 

AVeakcned  not  by  fear  or  doubt. 
In  this  subtle  sense  of  being, 

Newly-stirred  within  my  vein, 
I  can  feel  a  throb  electric, 

Pleasure  half  allied  to  pain. 
'Tis  so  great,  and  yet  so  awful. 

So  bewildering,  yet  brave, 
To  be  king  in  every  conflict 

When  before  I  crouched  a  slave. 
'Tis  so  glorious  to  be  conscious 

Of  a  glowing  power  within 
Stronger  than  the  rallying  forces 

Of  a  charged  and  marshalled  sin. 
0  those  olden  days  of  dalliance, 

AVhen  I  wantoned  with  my  fate. 
When  I  trifled  with  a  knowledge 

Tliat  had  well-nigii  come  too  late  ! 
But.  my  soul,  look  not  behind  thee, 

Thou  hast  work  to  do  at  last ; 
Let  the  brave  toil  of  the  Present 

Overarch  the  crumbled  Past. 
Build  thy  great  acts  high  and  higher, 

Build  them  on  the  couijuered  soil 
Where  thy  weakness  first  fell,  bleeding, 

And  thy  prayers  arose  to  God. 

Mks.  Cauullni:  .Mason. 


250  YOUJS'G  folks'  readings. 


THE  ANGEL'S   STORY. 

TIIROUGII  tlie  blue  and  frosty  heavens 
Christmas  stars  were  shining  bright ; 
Glistening  lamps  through  the  great  city 
Almost  matched  their  gleaming  light ; 
While  the  winter  snow  was  lying, 
And  the  winter  winds  were  sighing, 
Long  ago  one  Christmas  night. 

"While  from  every  tower  and  steeple 
Pealing  bells  were  sounding  clear, 

Never  with  such  tones  of  gladness, 

Save  when  Christmas  time  draws  near. 

Many  a  one  that  night  was  merry, 
Who  had  toiled  through  all  the  year. 

Yet  one  house  was  dim  and  darkened  ; 

Gloom,  and  sickness,  and  despair 
Were  dwelling  in  the  gilded  chamber. 

Creeping  up  the  marble  stair, 
Stilling  even  the  voice  of  mourning  : 

For  a  child  lay  dying  there  1 

Silken  curtains  fell  around  him. 
Velvet  carpets  hushed  the  tread  ; 

Many  costly  toys  were  lying 
All  unh(.'oded  by  his  bed  ; 

And  his  tangled  golden  ringlets 
Were  on  downy  pillows  spread. 

All  the  skill  of  thr*  groat  city 

To  save  that  little  life  was  vain  ; 
That  little  thread  from  being  broken, 
That  fatal  word  from  being  spoken  ; 


THE  angel's  story.  251 

Nay,  his  very  mother's  pain, 
And  the  mij^hty  love  within  her, 
Could  not  give  him  health  again. 

Suddenly  an  unseen  Presence 

Checked  those  constant  moaning  cries, 

Stilled  the  little  heart's  quick  fluttering, 
Eaiscd  those  blue  and  wandering  eyes. 

Fixed  on  some  mysterious  vision, 
'  With  a  startled,  sweet  surprise. 

For  a  radiant  angel  hovered 

Smiling  o'er  the  little  bed  ; 
White  his  raiment,  from  his  shoulders 

Snowy,  dove-like  pinions  spread, 
And  a  star-like  light  was  shining 

In  a  Glory  round  his  head. 

While  with  tender  love  the  angel, 

Leaning  o'er  the  little  nest. 
In  his  arms  the  sick  child  folding. 

Laid  him  gently  on  his  breast. 
Sobs  and  wailings  told  the  mother 

That  her  darling  was  at  rest. 

So  the  angel,  slowly  rising, 

Spread  his  wings,  and  through  the  air 
Bore  the  smiling  child,  and  held  him 

On  his  heart  with  loving  care  ; 
A  red  branch  of  blooming  roses 

Placing  softly  by  hiin  there. 

While  the  child,  thus  clinging,  floated 
Towards  the  mansions  of  the  Blest, 

Gazing  from  his  shining  guardian 
To  the  flowers  upon  his  breast, 

Thus  the  angel  spake,  still  smiling 
On  the  little  heavenly  guest : 


252  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Once  in  that  great  town  below  us, 
In  a  poor  and  narrow  street, 

Dwelt  a  little  sickly  orphan  ; 
Gentle  aid,  or  pity  sweet, 

Never  in  life's  rugged  pathway 
Guided  his  poor  tottering  feet. 


"  All  too  weak  for  childish  pastimes, 

Drearily  the  hours  sped  ; 
On  his  i)an(ls,  so  small  and  trembling, 

Leaning  his  poor  aching  head, 
Or,  through  dark  and  painful  hours, 

Lying  sleepless  on  his  bed. 


"  One  bright  day,  with  feeble  footsteps. 
Slowly  forth  he  dared  to  crawl. 

Through  the  crowded  city's  pathways, 
Till  he  reached  a  garden  wall, 

Where,  'mid  princely  halls  and  mansions, 
Stood  the  lordliest  of  all. 


"  He  against  the  gate  of  iron 

Pressed  his  wan  and  wistful  face, 

Gazing  with  an  awe-struck  pleasure 
At  the  glories  of  the  place  ; 

Never  had  his  brightest  day-dream 

Shone  with  half  such  wondrous  grace. 

"  You  were  playing  in  that  garden, 
Tlirowing  blossoms  in  the  air. 
And  laughing  when  the  petals  lloated 
Downwards  on  your  golden  hair  ; 
And  the  fond  eyes  watching  o'er  you, 
And  the  splendor  spread  before  you, 
Told  a  iiousc's  Hope  was  there. 


THE  angel's  story.  253 

"  When  your  servants,  tired  of  seeing 
His  pale  face  of  want  and  woe, 
Turning-  to  the  ragged  Orphan, 

Gave  him  coin,  and  bade  him  go, 
Down  his  cheek,  so  thin  and  wasted, 
Bitter  tears  began  to  How. 


"  But  that  look  of  childish  sorrow 
On  your  tender  child-heart  fell. 

And  you  plucked  the  reddest  roses 
From  tlie  tree  you  loved  so  well  ; 

Passing  them  through  the  stern  grating, 
With  the  gentle  word,  '  Farewell ! ' 


"  Dazzled  by  the  fragrant  treasure. 
And  the  gentle  voice  he  heard, 
In  the  poor,  forlorn  boy's  spirit, 

Joy,  the  sleeping  Seraph,  stirred  ; 
In  his  hand  he  took  the  flowers. 
In  his  heart  the  loving  word. 


"  So  he  crept  to  his  poor  garret. 

Poor  no  more,  but  rich  and  bright  ; 

For  the  holy  dreams  of  childhood  — 
Love,  and  Rest,  and  Hope,  and  Light 

Floated  round  the  Orphan's  jjillow 
Through  the  starry  summer  night. 


"  Day  dawned,  yet  the  visions  lasted  ; 

All  too  weak  to  rise  he  laj'  ; 
Did  he  dream  that  none  spake  harshly  — 

All  were  strangely  kind  that  day  ? 
And  he  thought  his  treasured  ruses 

Must  have  charmed  all  ills  away. 


254  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  And  he  smiled,  though  they  were  fading  ? 

One  1)3'  one  their  leaves  were  shed  ; 
'  Such  bright  things  could  never  perish  ; 

They  would  bloom  again/  he  said. 
AVhen  the  next  day's  sun  had  risen, 

Child  and  llowers  both  were  dead  1 


"  Know,  dear  little  one,  onr  Father 
Does  no  little  deed  disdain  ; 

And  in  hearts  that  beat  in  heaven, 
Still  all  tender  thoughts  remain. 

Love  on  the  cold  earth  beginning, 
Lives  divine  and  pure  again  !  " 


Thus  the  angel  ceased,  and  gently 

O'er  his  little  burden  leant ; 
While  the  child  gazed  from  the  shining, 

Loving  eyes  that  o'er  him  bent, 
To  the  blooming  roses  by  him. 

Wondering  what  that  mystery  meant. 


Then  the  radiant  angel  answered, 
And  with  tender  meaning  smiled, 

'  Ere  your  child-like,  loving  spirit, 
Sin  and  the  liard  world  defiled, 

God  has  given  me  leave  to  seek  you  :  — 
I  was  once  that  little  cliild  !  " 


Adelaide  ritocTEU. 


HOW   TOM    GOT    IIIS    FENCE   WUITEWASHED.  255 


HOW   TOM   SAWYER   GOT   EIS   FENCE 
WHITEWASHED. 

TOM  SAWYER,  having  offended  his  sole  guardian, 
Aunt  Polly,  is  by  that  sternly  affectionate  dame 
punished  by  being  set  to  whitewash  the  fence  in  front 
of  the  garden.  The  world  seemed  a  hollow  mockery 
to  Tom,  who  had  planned  fun  for  that  day,  and  he 
knew  that  he  would  be  the  laughing-stock  of  all  the 
boys  as  they  came  past  and  saw  him  set  to  work  like 
a  ".nigger."  But  a  great  inspiration  burst  upon  him, 
and  he  went  tranquilly  to  work.  What  that  inspira- 
tion was  will  appear  from  what  follows. 

One  of  the  boys,  Ben  Rogers,  comes  by  and  pauses, 
eating  a  particularly  fine  apple.  Tom  does  not  see 
him.     Ben  stared  a  moment,  and  then  said,  — 

"  Hi-yi !  you're  a  stump,  ain't  you  ?  " 

No  answer.  Tom  surveyed  his  last  touch  with  the 
eye  of  an  artist,  then  he  gave  another  gentle  sweep, 
and  surveyed  the  result,  as  before.  Ben  ranged  up 
alongside  of  him.  Tom's  jnouth  watered  for  the  apple, 
but  he  stuck  to  his  work.     Ben  said, — 

"  Hello,  old  chap  ;  you  got  to  work,  hey  !  " 

''  Why,  it's  you,  Ben  ;  I  wasn't  noticing." 

"  Say,  I'm  going  in  a-swinjraing,  I  am.  Don't  you 
wish  you  could  ?  But,  of  course,  you'd  ruther  work, 
wouldn't  you  ?     Course  you  would  !  " 

Tom  contemplated  the  boy  a  bit,  and  said, — 

''  What  do  you  call  work  ?  " 

"Why,  ain't  that  work?" 

Tom  resumed  his  whitewashing,  and  answered  care- 
lessly, — 


25G  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Well,  maybe  it  is,  and  maybe  it  ain't.  All  I  know 
is,  it  suits  Tom  Sawyer." 

''  0,  come  now,  you  don't  mean  to  let  on  that  you 
like  it?" 

The  brush  continued  to  move. 

"  Like  it  ?  Well,  I  don't  see  why  I  oughtn't  to  like 
it.  Does  a  boy  get  a  chance  to  whitewash  a  fence 
every  day  ?  " 

That  put  the  thing  in  a  new  light.  Ben  stopped 
nibbling  his  apple.  Tom  swept  his  brush  daintily 
back  and  forth  —  stepped  back  to  note  the  efl'cct  — 
added  a  touch  hero  and  there  —  criticised  the  effect 
again.  Ben  watching  every  move,  and  getting  more 
and  more  interested,  more  and  more  absorbed.  Pres- 
ently he  said,  — 

"  Say,  Tom,  let  me  whitewash  a  little." 

Tom  considered ;  was  about  to  consent,  but  he  al- 
tered his  mind.  "  No,  no ;  I  reckon  it  wouldn't  hardly 
do,  Ben.  You  see.  Aunt  Polly's  awful  particular  about 
this  fence  —  right  here  on  the  street,  you  know  — 
but  if  it  was  the  back  fence  I  wouldn't  mind,  and  she 
wouldn't.  Yes,  she's  awful  particular  about  this  fence  ; 
it's  got  to  be  done  very  careful ;  I  reckon  there  ain't 
one  boy  in  a  tiiousand,  maybe  two  thousand,  that  can 
do  it  in  the  way  it's  got  to  be  done." 

"  No  —  is  that  so?  0,  come  now;  lemmc  just  try, 
only  just  a  little.     Pd  let  you,  if  you  was  me,  Tom." 

"Ben,  Pd  like  to;  honest  Injun  ;  but  Aunt  Polly  — 
well,  Jim  wanted  to  do  it,  but  she  wouldn't  let  him. 
Sid  wanted  to  do  it,  but  she  wouldn't  let  Sid.  Now, 
don't  you  see  how  I  am  fixed?  If  you  was  to  tackle 
this  fence,  and  anytiiing  was  to  happen  to  it — " 

"  0,  shucks !  I'll  be  just  as  careful.  Now  lemme 
try.     Say  —  I'll  give  you  the  core  of  my  apple." 


now   TOM   GOT    AIS   FENCE  WHITEWASHED.  257 

"  Well,  here.     No,  Ben  ;  now  don't;  I'm  afearcl  —  " 

"  I'll  give  you  all  of  it !  " 

Tom  gave  up  the  hrush  with  reluctance  in  his  face, 
but  alacrity  in  his  heart.  And  while  Ben  worked  and 
sweated  in  the  sun,  the  retired  artist  sat  on  a  barrel 
in  the  shade  close  by,  danghng  his  legs,  munched  his 
apple,  and  planned  the  slaughter  of  more  innocents. 
There  was  no  lack  of  material ;  boys  happened  along 
every  little  while  ;  they  came  to  jeer,  but  remained  to 
whitewash.  By  the  time  Ben  was  lagged  out,  Tom 
had  traded  the  next  chance  to  Billy  Fisher  for  a  kite 
in  good  repair  ;  and  when  he  played  out,  Johnny  Miller 
bought  it  for  a  dead  rat  and  a  string  to  swing  it  with ; 
and  so  on,  and  so  on,  hour  after  liour.  And  when  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  came,  from  being  a  poor  pov- 
erty-stricken boy  in  the  morning,  Tom  was  literally 
rolling  in  wealth.  He  had,  besides  the  things  I  have 
mentioned,  twelve  marbles,  part  of  a  jews-harp,  a  piece 
of  blue  bottle-glass  to  look  through,  a  spool  caiuion,  a 
key  that  wouldn't  unlock  anything,  a  fragment  of 
chalk,  a  glass  stopper  of  a  decanter,  a  tin  soldier,  a 
couple  of  tadpoles,  six  fire-crackers,  a  kitten  with  only 
one  eye,  a  brass  door-knob,  a  dog  collar  —  but  no  dog 

—  the  handle  of  a  knife,  four  pieces  of  orange  peel, 
and  a  dilapidated  old  window  sash.  He  had  had  a 
nice,  good,  idle  time  all  the  while  —  plenty  of  company 

—  and  the  fence  had  three  coats  of  whitewash  on  it ! 
If  he  hadn't  run  out  of  whitewash,  he  would  have 
bankrupted  every  boy  in  the  village. 

Tom  said  to  himself  that  it  was  not  such  a  hollow 
world  after  all.  He  had  discovered  a  great  law  of 
human  action  without  knowing  it,  namely,  that  in 
order  to  make  a  man  or  a  boy  covet  a  thing,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  make  it  difficult  to  attain.  makk  twain. 
17 


258        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


OUR   ORIOLE   NEIGHBORS. 

''PIIEKE'S  an  oriole's  nest  in  the  elm-tree  boughs  ; 

JL       And  the  flurry  and  flutter  are  such  that  it  seems 

As  if  the  3'oung  husband  were  telling  his  siDOuse, 
In  an  air-castle  way,  of  his  householding  schemes. 
Don't  he  talk  like  a  tipsy  one  telling  his  dreams  ? 

But  what  does  he  care  for  tlio  lore  of  the  schools 
While  iiis  thoughts  are  busy  witii  family  cares  ? 

So,  disregarding  grammatical  rules, 

(No  Lord  of  the  Birch  has  our  hero  to  fear,) 
He  winds  up  his  story  of  household  affairs 

With,    "  Here  I  be,  here  I  be,  — right  up  here  !  " 

Do  matters  go  smoothly  ?     Well,  once  in  a  while 
Our  neighbor  is  down  with  a  touch  of  the  bhies  ; 

Then  he  talks  to  himsellin  a  very  queer  style, 
But  is  dumb  when  his  lady  solicits  the  news. 
He  mopes,  and  he  sulks,  and  he  stares  at  his  shoes, 

And  he  vows  that  this  world  is  a  very  dull  place. 
But  'tis  easier  by  far  for  our  friend  to  rejoice  ; 

So,  just  as  his  goodwife,  with  sorrowful  face. 
Is  wondering  whether  her  partner  is  near. 
He  shouts  from  his  perch,  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 

"  Why,  here  I  be,  here  I  be,  —  right  up  here  1 " 

"  But  never,"  he  saj's,  "  in  my  love-making  days, 
When  I  was  a  youngster,  and  Mrs.  was  Miss, 

And  the  bright  world  abounded  in  all  its  glad  waj'S, 
With  song  and  with  sunshine,  with  beauty  and  bliss,  — 
Never  once  did  I  think  that  it  could  come  to  this  I 

'Tis  a  serious  question,  this  matter  of  bread  ; 
And  soon  the  demand  will  bo,  —  '  rations  for  five  ! ' 

Shall  I  give  up  the  fight,  and  go  down  with  the  dead. 
And  leave  you  a  widow  ?     Say.  Tooty,  my  dear  1 
No  ;    I  am  determined  to  strive  and  to  thrive  ; 
So,  here  I  be,  here  I  be,  —  right  up  here  1  " 


DEFENCE    OF   HOFER.  259 

0,  the  wind  blows  east,  and  the  wind  blows  west, 
And  the  days  and  the  weeks  and  the  months  go  by  ; 

In  the  yellowing  elm  there's  a  desolate  nest, 
For  its  builders  have  llown  to  a  pleasanter  sky  ; 
And  I  hardly  know  whether  to  smile  or  to  sigh 

At  the  thought  that  when  I  shall  have  left  this  abode, 
And  passed,  like  the  birds,  from'  the  Old  to  the  New, 

Some  friend,  losing  sight  of  my  face  on  the  road, 
May  puzzle  his  brain  to  determine  my  sphere. 
And  get  for  all  answer,  (I  hope  'twill  be  true  !) 

"  Why,  here  I  be,  here  I  be,  —  right  up  here  I  " 

Beveuly  Moore. 


DEFENCE  OF  HOFER,  THE  TYROLESE 

PATRIOT. 

'V'^OU  ask  what  I  have  to  say  in  my  defence  —  you 
1  who  glory  in  the  name  of  France,  who  wander 
through  the  w^orld  to  enrich  and  exalt  the  land  of  your 
birth,  —  you  demand  how  I  could  dare  to  arm  myself 
against  the  invaders  of  my  native  rocks?  Do  you 
confine  the  love  of  home  to  yourselves  ?  Do  you 
punish  in  others  the  actions  which  you  dignify  and 
reward  among  yourselves?  Those  stars  which  glitter 
on  your  breasts,  do  they  hang  there  as  a  recompense 
for  patient  servitude  ? 

I  see  the  smile  of  contempt  which  curls  your  lips. 
You  say,  "  This  brute,  —  he  is  a  ruffian,  a  beggar  ! 
That  patched  jacket,  that  ragged  cap,  that  rusty  belt: 
—  shall  barbarians  such  as  he  close  the  pass  against  us, 
show^er  rocks  on  our  heads,  and  single  out  our  leaders 
with  unfailling  aim,  —  these  grovelling  mountaineers, 
who  know  not  the  joys  and  brilliance  of  life,  creeping 


260  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

amid  eternal  snows,  and  snatching  with  greedy  hand 
their  stinted  ear  of  corn  ?  " 

Yet,  poor  as  we  are,  we  never  envied  our  neighbors 
their  smiling  sun,  their  gilded  palaces ;  we  never 
strayed  from  our  peaceful  huts  to  blast  the  happiness 
of  those  who  had  not  injured  us.  The  traveller  wdio 
visited  our  valleys,  met  every  hand  outstretched  to 
welcome  him ;  for  him  every  hearth  blazed  with  de- 
light as  we  listened  to  his  tale  of  distant  lands.  Too 
happy  for  ambition,  we  were  not  jealous  of  wealth ;  we 
have  even  refused  to  partake  of  it.  ' 

Frenchmen  !  you  have  wives  and  children.  When 
you  return  to  your  beautiful  cities,  amid  the  roar  of 
trumpets,  the  smiles  of  the  lovely,  and  the  multitudes 
shouting  their  triumph,  they  will  ask,  "  Where  have 
you  roamed?  What  have  you  achieved  ?  What  have 
you  brought  back  to  us?"  Those  laughing  babes 
who  climb  upon  your  knees,  will  you  have  the  heart 
to  tell  them,  "  We  have  pierced  the  barren  crags ;  we 
have  entered  the  naked  cottage  to  level  it  to  the 
ground;  we  found  no  treasures  but  honest  hearts,  and 
those  we  have  broken  because  they  tlirobbed  with 
love  for  the  wilderness  around  them  ?  Clasp  this  old 
firelock  in  your  little  hands,  it  was  snatched  from  a 
peasant  of  Tyrol,  who  died  in  the  vain  effort  to  stem 
the  torrent !  "  Seated  by  your  fireside,  will  you  boast 
to  your  generous  and  blooming  wives,  that  you  have 
extinguished  the  last  ember  which  enlightened  our 
gloom  ? 

Happy  scenes !  I  shall  never  see  you  more !  In 
tliose  cold  and  stern  eyes  I  read  my  fate.  Think  not 
that  your  sentence  can  be  terrible  to  me  I  But  I  have 
sons,  daughters,  and  a  wife  who  has  shared  all  my 


DEFENCE   OF   HOFER.  261 

labors ;  she  has  shared,  too,  my  little  pleasures,  —  such 
pleasures  as  that  humble  roof  cau  yield,  —  pleasures 
that  you  cannot  understand. 

My  little  ones !  should  you  live  to  bask  in  the  sun- 
shine of  manliood  (you  are  sporting  by  the  brook  that 
washes  our  door),  dream  not  of"  your  father's  doom ! 
Should  you  live  to  know  it,  know,  too,  that  the  man 
who  has  served  his  God  and  country  with  all  his  heart, 
can  smile  at  the  musket  levelled  to  pierce  it.  What  is 
death  to  me  ?  I  have  not  revelled  in  pleasures  wrung 
from  innocence  or  want ;  rough  and  discolored  as  are 
these  hands,  they  are  pure.  My  death  is  nothing.  0 
that  my  country  could  live !  0  that  ten  thousand 
such  deaths  could  make  her  immortal ! 

Do  I  despair,  then?  No;  we  have  rushed  to  the 
sacrifice,  and  tlic  offering  has  been  vain  for  its ;  but 
our  children  shall  burst  these  fetters ;  the  blood  of 
virtue  was  never  shed  in  vain.  Freedom  can  never 
die  !  I  have  heard-  that  you  killed  your  king  once, 
because  he  enslaved  you ;  yet  now,  again,  you  crouch 
before  a  single  man  Avho  bids  you  trample  on  all  who 
abjure  his  yoke,  and  shoots  you  if  you  have  courage 
to  disobey.  Do  you  think  that,  when  I  am  buried, 
there  shall  breatlie  no  otlier  ITofers?  Dream  you  that, 
if  to-day  you  prostrate  Hofer  in  the  dust,  to-morrow 
Hofer  is  no  more  ? 

In  the  distance  I  see  the  liberty  which  I  sliall 
not  taste  ;  behind,  I  look  on  my  slaughtered  country- 
men, on  my  orphans,  on  my  desolate  fields ;  but  a  star 
rises  before  my  aching  sight,  Avliich  points  to  justice, 
and  it  shall  come.  Before  the  sun  has  sunk  below  yon 
mountains,  I  shall  awake  in  a  paradise  which  you,  per- 
haps, may  never  reacli. 


262  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE  LITTLE  HERO. 

A   TALE   OF  THE   ATLANTIC,   AS  TOLD   BY   OLD   BEN. 

NOW,  lads,  a  short  yarn  I'll  just  spin  you, 
As  happened  on  our  very  last  run, 
'Bout  a  boy  as  a  man's  soul  liad  in  hira, 
Or  else  I'm  a  son  of  a  gun  1 

From  Liverpool  port  out  three  days,  lads, 
The  good  ship  floating  over  the  deep. 

The  skies  bright  with  sunshine  above  us, 
The  waters  beneath  us  asleep  ; 

Not  a  bad-tempered  lubber  among  us, 

A  jollier  crew  never  sailed  ; 
'Cept  the  first  mate,  a  bit  of  a  savage. 

But  good  seaman  as  ever  was  hailed. 

Regulation,  good  order,  his  motto. 
Strong  as  iron,  and  steady  as  quick. 

With  a  couple  of  bushy  black  eyebrows, 
And  eyes  fierce  as  those  of  Old  Nick  ! 

One  day  he  comes  up  from  below  deck, 

A-graspin'  a  lad  by  the  arm, 
A  poor  little  ragged  young  urchin. 

As  ought  to  be  home  with  his  marm ! 

An'  the  mate  asks  the  boy  pretty  roughly, 
"  How  he  dared  for  to  be  stcnved  away  ? 

A-cheatiiig  the  owners  and  captain, 
Sailin',  eatin',  and  all  without  pay  ! " 


THE   LITTLE   HERO.  263 

The  lad  had  a  face  bright  and  sunny, 

An'  a  pair  o'  blue  eyes  like  a  girl's, 
An'  looks  up  at  the  scowling  first  mate,  boys, 

An'  shakes  back  his  long  shining  curls. 

An'  says  he,  in  a  voice  clear  and  pretty, 

"  My  stepfather  brought  me  aboard, 
And  hid  me  away  down  the  stairs  there, 

For  to  keep  me  he  couldn't  aflbrd. 

"  And  he  told  me  the  big  ship  Avould  take  me 

To  Halifax  town,  0,  so  far  1 
And  he  said,  '  Now  the  Lord  is  your  Father, 

Who  lives  where  the  good  angels  are  ! '  " 

"  It's  a  lie  !  "  says  the  mate,  —  "  not  your  father, 

But  some  o'  the  big  skulkers  here  ; 
Some  milk-hcartod,  soft-headed  sailor  ! 

Speak  up  !  tell  the  truth  !  d'ye  hear  !  " 


It  J 


Twarn't  us,"   growled  the  tars   as    stood  round 


'em. 


"  What's  your  age  ?  "  says  one  son  of  the  brine. 
"  And  your  name  ?  "   says  another  old  saltfish. 

Says  the  small  chap,  "I'm   Frank — just  turned 
nine  !  " 

"  0,  my  eyes  ! "  says  another  bronzed  seaman 
To  tlie  mate,  who  seemed  staggered  hisself, 

"  Let  him  go  free  to  old  Novy  Scoshy, 
An'  ril  work  out  his  passage  myself!  " 

"  Belay  ! "  says  the  mate  ;  "  shut  your  mouth,  man  ; 

ril  sail  tliis  here  craft,  bet  your  life  ! 
An'  ril  lit  tlie  lie  on  to  ye  somehow. 

As  square  as  a  fork  fits  a  knife  !  " 


264  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Then  a-knittiug  his  black  brows  with  anger, 

lie  tumbles  the  poor  slip  below, 
An'  says  he,  "  P'raps  to-morrow  '11  change  you  ; 

If  it  don't,  back  to  England  you  go  !  " 

I  took  him  some  dinner,  be  sure,  mates ; 

Just  think  —  only  nine  years  of  age  ! 
An'  next  day,  just  as  soon  as  six  bells  tolled. 

The  mate  brings  him  out  of  his  cage. 

An'  he  plants  him  afore  lis  amidships, 

His  eyes  like  two  coals  all  alight. 
An'  he  sa.ys,  through  his  teeth  —  mad  with  passion, 

An'  his  hand  lifted  ready  to  smite  : 

"  Tell  the  truth,  lad,  and  then  I'll  forgive  you  ; 
But  the  truth  1  will  have  —  speak  it  out ; 
It  wasn't  3'our  father  as  brought  you. 
But  some  of  these  men  here  about  ?  " 

Then  that  pair  o'  blue  eyes  bright  and  winning, 
Clear  and  shady  with  innocent  youth, 

Looks  up  at  the  mate's  bushy  eyebrows. 

An'  says  he,  "  Sir,  I've  told  you  the  truth  1  " 

'Twarn't  no  use  — the  mate  didn't  believe  him, 
Tliough  every  man  else  did  aboard  ; 

With  rough  hand  by  the  collar  he  seized  him. 
And  cried,  "  You  shall  hang,  by  the  Lord  I  " 

An'  he  snatched  his  watch  out  of  his  pocket. 
Just  as  if  he'd  bin  drawin'  a  knife  ; 
"  If  in  ten  minutes  more  3'ou  don't  speak,  lad. 
There's  the  rope  !  and  good-by  to  dear  life  !  " 

There  !  —  you  never  see  such  a  sight,  mates, 
As  that  boy  with  his  pale,  pretty  face  : 

Proud,  though,  and  steady  with  courage. 
Never  thinking  of  asking  for  grace  1 


THE   LITTLE   HERO.  265 

Eight  minutes  went  by,  all  in  silence. 

Says  the  mate,  then,  "  Speak,  lad  :  say  your  say!" 
His  eyes  slowly  filling  with  tear-drops. 

He,  faltering,  says,  "  May  1  pray  ?  " 

I'm  a  rough  and  a  hard  old  tarpaulin 

As  any  blue-jacket  afloat, 
But  the  salt  water  springs  to  my  eyes,  lads, 

And  I  felt  my  heart  rise  in  my  throat ! 

The  mate  kind  o'  trembled  and  shivered, 

And  nodded  his  liead  in  reply. 
And  his  cheek  went  all  white  of  a  sudden. 

And  the  hot  light  was  quenched  in  his  eye. 

An'  he  stood  like  a  figure  of  marble. 

With  his  watch  tightly  grasped  in  his  hand, 

An'  the  passengers  all  still  around  him  — 
Ne'er  the  like  was  on  sea  or  on  land  I 

An'  the  little  chap  kneels  on  the  deck  there, 
An'  his  hands  he  clasps  over  his  breast, 

As  he  must  ha'  done  often  at  home,  lads, 
At  night-time,  when  goin'  to  x-est. 

And  soft  comes  the  first  words,  "  Our  Father," 
Low  and  soft  from  that  dear  baby-lip, 

But  low  as  they  was,  heard  like  trumpet 
By  each  true  man  aboard  o'  that  ship. 

Ev'ry  bit  o'  that  prayer,  mates,  ho  goes  through. 

To  "  Forever  and  ever.      Amen  !  " 
And  for  all  the  bright  gold  of  the  Indies 

I  wouldn't  ha'  heard  him  agen ! 


&^ 


An'  says  he,  when  he'd  finished,  uprising, 
An'  lifting  his  blue  eyes  above, 
"  Dear  Lord  Jesus,  0,  take  mo  to  heaven, 
Back  again  to  my  own  mother's  love  ! " 


266  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

For  a  minute  or  two,  like  to  magic, 
We  stood  every  man  like  the  dead, 

Then  back  to  the  mate's  face  comes  running 
The  life-blood  again,  warm  and  red. 

Off  his  feet  was  that  lad  sudden  lifted. 
An'  clasped  to  the  mate's  rugged  breast, 

And  his  husky  voice  muttered,  "  God  bless  you  ! " 
As  his  lips  to  his  forehead  he^pressed. 

If  the  ship  hadn't  been  a  good  sailer, 

An'  gone  by  herself  right  along, 
All  had  gone  to  old  Davy,  for  all,  lads. 

Was  gathered  around  in  that  throng. 

Like  a  man,  says  the  mate,  "  God  forgive  me, 

That  ever  I  used  you  so  hard  ; 
It's  myself  as  had  ought  to  bo  strung  up 

Taut  and  sure  to  that  ugly  old  yard  I  " 


)j 


"  You  believe  me  now  ?  "  then  said  the  youngster. 

"  Believe  you  !  "  —  lie  kissed  him  once  more  ; 
"  You'd  have  laid  down  your  life  for  the  truth,  lad. 
Believe  you  !     From  now  evermore  1 " 

An'  p'raps,  mates,  he  wasn't  thought  much  on 
All  that  day,  and  the  rest  of  the  trip  ; 

P'raps  he  paid,  after  all,  for  his  passage  1 
P'raps  he  wasn't  the  pet  of  the  ship  ! 

And  if  that  little  chap  ain't  a  model 
For  all,  young  or  old,  short  or  tall, 

And  if  that  ain't  the  stuff  to  make  men  of, 
Old  Ben  he  knows  naught  after  all  1 


THE   HISTORICAL   liUTCHER.  267 


THE  HISTORICAL  BUTCHER. 

IT^HAT  d'ye  buy,  what  d'ye  buy  —  well,  how  are 
V  V  you  ?  How  do  you  do  ?  I  wery  glad  to  see 
you  ;  how  are  all  the  family  ?  This  is  wery  kind  to 
call  in  this  here  way.  I've  been  reading  as  usual  all 
this  here  blessed  morning,  that  favorite  book  of  mine, 
Hume's  History  in  England  ;  Avhat  a  book  that  'ere 
is  I  Howhinstructive  and  hentcrtaining  Hume's  His- 
tory in  England  is  —  ten  pence  a  pound,  ma'am.  I've 
been  reading  the  fourth  wolum  ;  it's  a  Avery  thick 
un,  wery  thick  indeed  —  make  nice  soup,  ma'am. 
Queen  Mary  —  make  nice  Scotch  collops,  ma'am.  Sir 
Isaac  Newton  was  a  great  man  ;  he  knew  all  about 
the  pole-axe  of  the  fixed  stars,  and  how  long  it  would 
take  a  man  to  go  in  a  taxed  cart  to  the  moon.  Queen 
Elizabeth  went  to  St.  Paul's  on  a  pillion  —  that  saddle 
of  mutton  's  just  your  weight,  ma'am.  I've  been  read- 
ing, dear  me,  —  I've  been  reading  King  Charles; 
you've  heard  of  him,  han't  you  ?  Hid  himself  in  St. 
James's  Park  ever  since  ;  no,  it  warn't  St.  James's 
Park,  war  it  ?  However,  I  know  it  was  in  some  park ; 
but  the  wicked  rascals  caught  him  and  cut  off  his  head 

—  make  a  capital  hash,  with  parsley  garnish,  ma'am. 
Cardinal  Wolsey's  father  was  a  butcher;  so  am  I. 
There's  a  curious  coincidence,  an't  it?  And  Henry 
the  Eighth  married  Queen  Elizabeth ;  no,  he  didn't 
though,  for  she  war  his  mother;  no,  that  couldn't  be 

—  she  warn't  his  mother  —  but  she  war  some  relation. 
King  Henry  the  Eighth  —  that's  a  nice  fat  bit,  ma'am  ; 
take  it  wi'  you. 


268  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


BABIE   BELL. 

HAVE  you  not  hoard  the  poets  tell 
How  came  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours  ? 
The  gates  of  heaven  were  left  ajar  : 

With  folded  hands  and  dreamy  eyes, 

Wandering  out  of  Paradise, 
She  saw  this  planet,  like  a  star, 

Hung  in  the  glittering  depths  of  even, 
Its  bridges,  running  to  and  fro, 
O'er  which  the  white-winged  angels  go, 

Bearing  the  holy  dead  to  heaven  ! 
She  touched  a  bridge  of  flowers,  those  feet, 

So  light  they  did  not  bend  the  bells 

Of  the  celestial  asphodels  ! 
They  fell  like  dew  upon  the  flowers. 

Then  all  the  air  grew  strangely  sweet ; 
And  thus  came  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Into  this  world  of  ours. 


She  came  and  brought  delicious  May, 
The  swallows  built  beneath  the  eaves  ; 
Like  sunliglit  in  and  out  the  leaves. 

The  robins  went,  the  livelong  day  ; 

The  lily  swung  its  noiseless  bell. 

And  o'er  the  porch  the  trembling  vine 
Seemed  bursting  with  its  veins  of  wine  ; 

How  sweetly,  softly,  twilight  fell  ! 

0,  earth  was  full  of  singing  birds. 
And  opening  spring-tide  flowers. 

When  the  dainty  Babie  Bell 
Came  to  this  world  of  ours  1 


BABIE   BELL.  269 

0  Babio,  dainty  Babie  Bell, 
How  iair  she  grew  from  day  to  day  I 

What  woman-nature  filled  her  eyes. 
What  poetry  within  them  lay  ! 
Those  deep  and  tender  twilight  eyes, 

So  full  of  meaning,  pure  and  briglit, 

As  if  she  yet  stood  in  the  light 
Of  those  ope'd  gates  of  Paradise  ! 
And  so  we  loved  her  more  and  more ; 
Ah,  never  in  our  hearts  before 

Was  love  so  lovely  born  ; 
We  felt  we  had  a  link  between 
This  real  world  and  that  unseen. 

The  land  beyond  the  morn. 

•  •••••• 

And  now  the  orchards,  which  were  white 

And  red  with  blossoms  when  she  came. 
Were  rich  in  autumn's  mellow  prime. 

The  clustered  apples  burnt  like  flame, 
The  soft-cheeked  peaches  blushed  and  lell. 
The  ivory  chestnut  burst  its  shell. 
The  grape  hung  purpling  in  the  grange, 
And  time  wrought  just  as  rich  a  change 

In  little  Babie  Bell. 
Her  lissome  form  more  perfect  grew, 

And  in  her  features  we  could  trace. 

In  soltened  curves,  her  mother's  face. 
Her  angel-nature  ripened  too, 
We  thought  her  lovely  when  she  came. 

But  she  was  holy,  saintl}''  now. 

Around  her  pale  angelic  brow 
We  saw  a  slender  ring  of  flame  ! 

God's  hand  had  taken  away  the  seal 
That  held  the  portals  of  her  speech  ; 

And  oft  she  said  a  few  strange  words, 
Whoso  meaning  lay  beyond  our  reach. 


270  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

She  never  was  a  child  to  us, 

Wc  never  held  her  being's  key  ; 

We  could  not  teach  her  holy  things, 
She  was  Christ's  self  in  purity. 

It  came  upon  us  by  degrees, 

We  saw  its  sliadow  ere  it  fell, 
The  knowledge  that  our  God  had  sent 

Ills  messenger  for  Babie  Bell. 

We  shuddered  with  unlanguaged  pain, 
And  all  our  thoughts  ran  into  tears, 

Like  sunshine  into  rain. 

We  cried  aloud  in  our  belief, 
"  0,  smite  us  gently,  gently,  God  I 
Teach  us  to  bend  and  kiss  the  rod,    , 

And  perfect  grow  through  grief." 
Ah,  how  we  loved  her,  God  can  tell  ; 
Her  heart  was  folded  deep  in  ours  ; 

Our  hearts  are  broken,  Babie  Bell. 

At  last  he  came,  the  messenger, 

The  messenger  from  unseen  lands  ; 
And  what  did  dainty  Balne  Bell  ? 

She  only  crossed  her  hands. 
She  only  looked  more  meek  and  fair  ! 
We  parted  back  her  silken  hair  ; 
We  wove  the  roses  round  her  brow, 
AVhite  l)udH,  the  summer's  drifted  snow, 

^V rapped  lier  from  head  to  foot  in  flowers. 
And  thus  went  dainty  Babie  Bell 

Out  of  this  world  of  ours  ! 

Thomas  IJailky  AluhIch. 


JIMMY   BUTLER   AJ^ID   THE   OWL.  271 


JIMMY   BUTLER  AND   THE  OWL. 

'O^WAS  in  the  summer  of  '46  that  I  landed  at 
.  1  Hamilton,  fresh  as  a  new  pratie  just  dug  from 
the  "  ould  sod,"  and  wid  a  light  heart  and  a  heavy 
bundle  I  sot  off  for  the  township  of  Buford,  tiding  a 
taste  of  a  song,  as  merry  a  young  fellow  as  iver  took 
the  road.  Well,  I  trudged  on  and  on,  past  many  a 
plisint  place,  pleasin'  meself  wid  the  thought  that 
some  day  I  might  have  a  place  of  me  own,  wid  a 
world  of  chickens  and  ducks  and  pigs  and  childer 
about  the  door ;  and  along  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
sicond  day  I  got  to  Buford  village.  A  cousin  of  me 
mother's,  one  Dennis  O'Dowd,  lived  about  sivin  miles 
from  there,  and  I  w^anted  to  make  his  place  that  night, 
so  I  inquired  the  way  at  the  tavern,  and  was  lucky  to 
find  a  man  who  was  goin'  part  of  the  way,  an'  would 
show  me  the  way  to  find  Dennis.  Sure  he  was  very 
kind  indade,  an'  when  I  got  out  of  his  wagon  he 
pointed  me  through  the  wood,  and  tould  me  to  go 
straight  south  a  mile  and  a  half,  and  the  first  house 
would  be  Dennis's. 

''An'  you've  no  time  to  lose  now,"  said  he,  "  for  the 
sun  is  low,  and  mind  you  don't  get  lost  in  the  woods." 

"  Is  it  lost  now,"  said  I,  "  that  I'd  be  gittin',  an'  me 
uncle  as  great  a  navigator  as  iver  steered  a  ship  across 
the  thrackless  say  !  Not  a  bit  of  it,  though  I'm 
obleeged  to  ye  for  your  kind  advice,  and  thank  yiz 
for  the  ride." 

An'  wid  that  he  drove  off  an'  left  me  alone.  I  shoul- 
dered me  bundle  bravely,  an'  whistliu'  a  bit  of  time  for 


272  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

company  like,  I  pushed  into  the  bush.  Well,  I  went  a 
long  way  over  bogs,  an'  turnin'  among  the  bush  an' 
trees,  till  I  began  to  think  I  must  he  well-nigh  to  Den- 
nis's. But,  bad  'cess  to  it  !  all  of  a  sudden  I  came  out 
of  the  woods  at  the  very  identical  spot  where  I  started 
in,  which  I  knew  by  an  ould  crotclied  tree  that  seemed 
to  be  standin'  on  its  head  an'  kickin'  up  its  heels  to 
make  divarsion  of  me.  By  this  time  it  was  growin' 
dark,  and  as  there  was  no  time  to  lose,  I  started  in  a 
second  time,  detarmined  to  keep  straight  south  this 
time,  an'  no  mistake.  I  got  on  bravely  for  a  while, 
but  och  hone  !  och  hone !  it  got  so  dark  I  couldn't  see 
the  trees,  an'  I  bumped  me  nose  an'  barked  me  shins, 
while  the  miskaties  bit  me  hands  and  face  to  a  blister ; 
an'  afthcr  tumblin'  an'  stumblin'  around  till  I  was  fairly 
bamfoozled,  I  sat  down  on  a  log,  all  of  a  trimble,  to 
think  that  I  was  lost  intirely,  an'  that  maybe  a  lion  or 
some  other  wild  craythur  would  devour  me  beibre 
mornin'. 

Just  then  I  heard  somebody  a  long  way  off  say, 
"  Whip  poor  Will !  "  "  Bedad,"  sez  I,  "  I'm  glad  it 
isn't  Jamie  that's  got  to  take  it,  though  it  seems  it's 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger  they  are  doin'  it,  or  why 
should  they  say  '  poor  Will '  ?  An'  sure  they  can't  be 
Injin,  haythin,  or  naygur,  for  it's  plain  English  they're 
allher  spakin'.  Maybe  they  might  help  me  out  o' 
this  ;  "  so  1  shouted  at  the  top  o'  my  voice,  "  A  lost 
man  !  "     Thin  I  listened.     Prisently  an  answer  came. 

"  Who  ?  Who-o  ?  Who-o-o  ?  " 

"Jamie  Butler,  the  Avaiver,"  sez  I,  as  loud  as  I  could 
roar,  an'  snatchin'  up  me  bundle  an'  stick,  I  started  in 
the  direction  of  the  voice.  Wliin  I  thought  I  had  got 
near  the  place,  I  stopped  and  shouted  again,  "  A  lost 
man  !  " 


I 


JIMMY    BUTLER    AND    THL:    OWL.  273 

''  Who  !  Wlio-o  !  Who-0-0  !  "  said  a  voice  right  over 
me  head. 

"  Sure,"  thinks  I,  "  it's  a  mighty  quare  place  for  a 
man  to  be  at  this  time  of  night ;  maybe  it's  some  set- 
tler scrapin'  sugar  off  a  sugar-bush  for  the  children's 
breakfast  in  the  mornin'.  But  where's  Will  and  the 
rest  of  'em  ?  "  All  this  wint  through  me  head  like  a 
flash,  an'  thin  I  answered  his  inquiry. 

"  Jamie  Butler,  the  waiver,"  sez  I ;  "  an'  if  it  wouldn't 
inconvanience  yer  honor,  would  yez  be  kind  enough  to 
step  down  and  show  me  the  way  to  the  house  of  Den- 
nis O'Dowd  ?  " 

"  Who  !  Who-o  !  Who-o-o  !  "  sez  he. 

"  Dennis  O'Dowd,"  sez  I,  civil  enough ;  "  an'  a  dacint 
man  he  is,  an'  first  cousin  to  me  own  mother." 

"  Who  !  Who-o  !  Who-o-o  !  "  sez  he  again. 

"  Me  mother."  sez  I ;  "  an'  as  fine  a  woman  as  iver 
peeled  a  biled  pratie  wid  her  thumb-nail ;  an'  her 
marden  name  was  Alolly  McFiggin." 

"  Who  !  Who-o  !  Wlio-o-o  !  " 

"  Paddy  McFiggin  !  bad  luck  to  yer  deaf  ould  head. 
Paddy  McFiggin,  I  say  ;  do  ye  hear  that  ?  An'  he 
was  the  tallest  man  in  all  the  county  Tipperary,  excipt 
Jim  Doyle,  tlic  blacksmith." 

"  Who  !  Who-o  !  Who-o-o  !  " 

"  Jim  Doyle,  the  blacksmith,"  sez  I,  "  ye  good-for- 
nothin'  blaggurd  naygur;  an'  if  yiz  don't  come  down 
and  show  me  the  way  this  min't,  Pll  climb  up  there  an' 
break  every  bone  in  yer  skin,  ye  spalpeen,  so  sure  as 
me  name  is  Jamie  Butler  !  " 

"  Who  !  Who-o  !  Who-o-o  !  "  sez  he,  as  impident  as 
iver. 

I  said  niver  a  word,  but  layin'  down  mc  bundle,  an' 
18 


274  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

tukin'  me  stick  in  me  teeth,  I  began  to  climb  the  tree. 
Whin  I  got  among  the  branches  I  looked  quietly 
around  till  I  saw  a  pair  of  big  eyes  just  forninst  me. 

"  Wliist,"  sez  I,  "  an'  I'll  let  him  have  a  taste  of  an 
Irish  stick  ;  "  an'  wid  that  I  let  dhrive,  and  lost  me  bal- 
ance, an'  came  tumblin'  to  tlie  ground,  nearly  breakin' 
me  neck  wid  the  fall.  Whin  I  came  to  me  sinsis  I  had 
a  very  sore  head,  wid  a  lump  on  it  like  a  goose-egg, 
and  half  of  me  Sunday  coat-tail  torn  off  intirely.  I 
spoke  to  the  chap  in  the  tree,  but  could  git  niver  an 
answer  at  all  at  all. 

"  Sure,"  thinks  1,  "  lie  must  have  gone  home  to  rowl 
up  his  head,  for  by  the  powers  I  didn't  throw  me  stick 
for  nothin'." 

Well,  by  this  time  the  moon  was  up,  and  I  could  see 
a  little,  and  I  detarmincd  to  make  one  more  effort  to 
reach  Dennis's. 

I  wint  on  cautiously  for  a  wliile,  an'  tliin  I  heard  a 
bell.  "  Sure,"  sez  I,  "  I'm  comin'  to  a  settlement  now, 
for  I  hear  tlie  church-bell."  I  kept  on  toward  the 
sound  till  I  came  to  an  ould  cow  wid  a  bell  on.  She 
started  to  luii,  l)ut  I  was  too  quick  for  her,  and  got 
her  by  the  tail  and  hung  on,  thinkin'  that  maybe  she 
would  take  me  out  of  the  woods.  On  we  wint,  like  an 
ould  country  steeple-chase,  till,  sure  enough,  we  came 
out  to  a  clearin',  an'  a  house  in  sight  wid  a  light  in  it. 
So,  leavin'  tlie  ould  cow  puffin'  and  l)lowin'  in  a  shed, 
I  wint  to  the  house,  and,  as  luck  would  have  it,  whose 
should  it  be  but  Dennis's. 

He  gave  me  a  raal  Irish  welcome,  and  introduced 
me  to  his  two  daughters,  as  purty  a  pair  of  girls  as 
iver  ye  clapped  an  eye  on.  But  wliin  I  tould  him  me 
adventure   in  the  woods,  and  about  the   fellow  who 


bachelor's  hall.  275 

made  fun  of  mc,  tliey  all  laughed  and  roared,  and 
Dennis  said  it  was  an  owl. 

"An  ould  what  ?  "  sez  I. 

"  Why,  an  owl  —  a  bird,"  sez  he. 

"  Do  ye  tell  me  now  ?  "  sez  I.  "  Sure  it's  a  quare 
country  and  a  quare  bird." 

An'  thin  they  all  laughed  again,  till  at  last  I  laughed 
myself,  that  hearty  like,  and  dropped  right  into  a  chair 
between  the  two  purty  girls,  and  the  ould  chap  winked 
at  me  and  roared  again. 

Dennis  is  me  father-in-law  now,  and  he  often  yet 
delights  to  tell  our  children  about  their  daddy's  adven- 
ture wid  tlie  owl. 


BACHELOR'S  HALL. 

BACHELOR'S  hall  !  What  a  quarc-lookin'  place  it  is  ! 
Save  mc  from  sich  all  the  days  o'  my  life  I 
Sure,  but  I  think  wliat  a  burnin'  disgrace  it  is 
Niver  at  all  to  be  gettiii'  a  wife  ! 

Pots,  dishes,  an'  pans,  an'  sich  grasy  commodities, 
Ashes  and  pratie-skins,  kiver  the  floor  ; 

The  cupboard  's  a  storehouse  of  comical  oddities, 
Things  that  had  niver  been  nciglibors  belbre. 

Say  the  ould  bachelor,  gloomy  an'  sad  enough, 

Placin'  Iiis  tay-kettle  over  the  fire  ; 
Soon  it  tips  over — Saint  Patrick  !   he's  mad  enough, 

If  he  were  prisent,  to  fight  with  the  squire  1 

He  looks  for  the  platter  —  Grimalkin  is  scourin'  it ; 

Sure,  at  a  baste  like  that,  swearin  's  no  sin  ! 
His  dish-cloth  is  missing,  —  the  pigs  are  dcvouriu'  it. 

Thunder  and  turf  !  what  a  pickle  he's  in  ! 


276        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Laic  in  the  aiv'nin'  ho  goes  to  bed  sliiveriii'; 

Niver  a  bit  is  the  beil  made  at  all  ; 
Ho  crapes  like  a  terrapin  under  tho  kivorin'; 

Bad  luck  to  the  picture  of  bachelor's  hall  I 


SHELLING  PEAS. 

NO,  Tom,  you  may  banter  as  much  as  you  please  ; 
But  it's  all  the  result  of  the  shellin'  them  peas. 
AVhy,  I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea,  do  you  know, 
That  so  serious  a  matter  would  out  of  it  grow. 
I  tell  you  what,  Tom,  I  do  feel  kind  o'  scared. 
I  dreamed  it,  1  hoped  it,  but  never  once  dared 
To  breathe  it  to  her.      And,  besides,  I  must  say 
I  always  half  fancied  she  fancied  Jim  Wray. 
So  I  felt  kind  o'  stulfy  and  proud,  and  took  care 
To  be  out  of  the  way  wlien  that  feller  was  there 
A-danglin'  around  ;   for  thinks  I,  if  it's  him, 
That  Katy  likes  best,  what's  the  use  lookin  grim 
At  Katy  or  Jim,  for  it's  all  up  with  me  ; 
And  I'd  better  jest  let  'cm  alone,  do  you  see  ? 
But  you  wouldn't  have    thought   it ;  tiiat  girl    never 

keerod 
The  snap  of  a  pea-pod  for  Jim's  bushy  beard. 
AVell,  here's  how  it  was.      1  was  takin'  some  berries 
Across  near  her  garden  to  leave  at  Aunt  Mary's, 
AVhen,  jest  as  I  come  to  the  old  ellum-tree, 
All  alone  in  the  shade  that  June  mornin'  was  she, 
Shellin'  peas  —  sotting  there  on  a  garden  settee. 
1  swan,  she  was  handsomer  'n  over  I  seen, 
Lik(;  a  rose  all  alone  in  a  moss-work  of  green. 
Well,  there  wasn't  no  use  ;  so  says  I,  "  I'll  jest  linger 
And  gaze  at  her  here,  behind  a  s^ninga." 
I'lit  she  heard  me  a-movin',  and  look(;d  a  bit  frightened. 
So  I  come  and  stood  near  her.      I  fancied  she  brightened, 


SHELLING    PEAS.  277 

And  seemed  sort  o'  pleased.     So  I  hoped  she  was  well, 
And  —  would  she  uHow  mo  to  help  her  to  shell  ? 
For  she  sat  with  a  monstrous  big  dish  iiiU  of  peas, 
Jest  fresh  from  the  vines,  which  she  held  on  her  knees. 
"  May  I  help  you,  Miss  Katy  ?"  says  I.    "As  you  please, 
Mr.  Baxter,"  says  she.      "  But  you're  busy,  I  guess,"  — 
Glancin'  down  at  my  berries,  and  then  at  her  dress. 
"  Not  the  least.     There's  no  hurry.     It  ain't  very  late  ; 
And  I'd  rather  be  here  ;  and  Aunt  Mary  can  wait," 
So  I  sot  down  beside  her  ;  an'  as  nobody  seen  us, 
I  jest  took  the  dish  and  I  held  it  between  us. 
And  I  thought  to  myself,  "  I  must  make  an  endeavor 
To  know  which  she  likes,  Jim  or  me,  now  or  never," 
But  I  couldn't  say  nothin'.      We  sot  there  and  held 
That  green  pile  between  us.     She  shelled  and  I  shelled  ; 
And  pup  went  the  puds  ;   and  I  couldn't  help  thinkiu' 
Of  popping  the  question.      A  kind  of  a  sinkiu' 
Come  over  my  spirits,  till  at  last  I  got  out 
"  Mister  Wray  's  an  admirer  of  yours,  I've  no  donbt ; 
You  see  him  quite  often."    "  Well,  sometimes.    But  why  ? 
And  what  if  I  did  ?  "      "  0,  well,  nothin',"  says  I. 
"  Some  folks  says  you're  goin'  to  marry  him,  though." 
"  Who  says  so  ?  "  says  she  ;   and   she  flared  up  like  tow 
When  you  throw  in  a  match.      "  Well,  some  folks  that  1 

know." 
"  'Tain't  true,  sir,"  says  she.     And  she  snapped  a  big 

pod, 
Till  the  peas,  right  and  left,  flew  all  over  the  sod. 
Then  1  looked  in  her  eyes  ;   but  she  only  looked  down, 
With  a  blush  that  she  tried  to  chase  off  with  a  frown. 
"  Then  it's  somebody  else  you  like  better,"  says  I. 
"  No,  it  ain't,  though,"  says   she  ;  and   I   thought  she 

would  cry. 
Then  I  tried  to  say  somethin'  ;  it  stuck  in  my  throat, 
And  all  my  ideas  were  upset  and  allout. 
But  I  said  I  knew  sonu'boily  'd  loved  her  so  long  — 
Though  he  never  had  told  her  —  with   feelin's  so  strong, 
lie  was  ready  to  die  at  her  fe(>t,  if  she  chosed. 
If  she  only  could  love  him  !  —  I  hardly  supposed 


278  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

That  she  cared  for  him  much,  though.     And  so,  Tom,  — 

and  so,  — 
For  I  thought  that  I  saw  how  the  matter  would  go,  — 
AVith  my  lieart  all  a-jumpiu'  with  rapture,  I  found 
1  had  taken  her  hand,  and  my  arm  was  around 
Her  waist  ere  I  knew  it ;  and  she  with  her  head 
On  my  shoulder,  —  but  no,  I  won't  tell  what  she  said. 
The  birds  sang  above  us  ;  our  secret  was  theirs  ; 
The  leaves  whispered  soft  in  the  wandering  airs. 
I  tell  you  the  world  was  a  new  world  to  me. 
I  can  talk  of  these  things  like  a  book  now,  you  see. 
But  the  peas  ?     Ah,  the  peas  in  the  pods  were  a  mess 
Rather  bigger  than  those  that  we  shelled,  you  may  guess. 
It's  risky  to  set  with  a  girl  shellin'  peas. 
You  may  tease  me  now,  Tom,  just  as  much  as  you  please. 

C.  p.  Ckakch. 


THE  TWO  WEAVERS. 

AS  at  their  work  two  weavers  sat, 
Beguiling  time  with  friendl}'  chat, 
They  touched  upon  the  price  of  meat. 
So  high  a  weaver  scarce  could  eat. 

"  What  with  my  babes  and  sickly  wife," 
Quoth  Dick,  "  I'm  almost  tired  of  life  ; 
So  hard  we  work,  so  poor  we  fare, 
'Tis  more  than  mortal  man  can  bear. 

"  How  glorious  is  the  rich  man's  state;  ! 
His  house  80  fine,  his  wealth  so  great ! 
Heaven  is  unjust,  you  must  agree  : 
Why  all  to  him,  and  none  to  me  ? 

"  In  spite  of  what  the  Scripture  teaches, 
In  spite  of  all  the  pulpit  preaches. 
This  world  —  indeed,  I've  thought  so  long- 
Is  ruled,  mcthinks,  extremely  wrong. 


THE   TWO    WEAVERS.  279 

"  Where'er  T  look,  howe'er  I  rang-e, 
'Tis  all  confused,  and  hard,  and  stiange  ; 
The  good  are  troubled  and  opprest, 
And  all  the  wicked  are  the  blest." 

Quoth  John,  "  Our  ig-norancc  is  the  cause 
AVhy  tiuis  we  blame  our  Maker's  laws  ; 
Parts  of  his  ways  alone  we  know. 
'Tis  all  that  man  can  see  below. 

"  Sccst  thou  that  carpet,  not  half  done, 
Which  thou,  dear  Dick,  hast  well  begun  ? 
Behold  the  wild  confusion  there  ! 
So  rude  the  mass,  it  makes  one  stare  I 

"A  stranger,  ignorant  of  the  trade. 
Would  say,  no  meaning  's  there  conveyed  ; 
For  Where's  the  middle,  where's  the  border  ? 
Thy  carpet  is  now  all  disorder." 

Quoth  Dick,  "  My  work  is  yet  in  bits. 
But  still  in  every  part  it  fits  ; 
Besides,  you  reason  like  a  lout ; 
AVliy,  man,  that  carpet's  inside  out." 

Says  John,  "  Thou  sayst  the  thing  I  mean  ; 
And  now  I  hope  to  cure  thy  spleen  : 
This  world,  which  clouds  thy  soul  with  doubt, 
Is  but  a  carpet  inside  out. 

"As  when  we  view  the  shreds  and  ends, 
Wo  know  not  what  the  whole  intends  ; 
So,  when  on  earth  things  look  but  odd, 
Tliey're  working  still  some  scheme  of  God. 

"  No  plan,  no  pattern  can  we  trace  ; 
All  wants  proportion,  truth,  and  grace. 
The  motley  mixture  we  deride. 
Nor  see  the  beauteous  upper  side. 


280  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  But  when  we  reach  the  world  of  light, 
And  view  these  works  of  God  aright, 
Then  shall  we  see  the  whole  design, 
And  own  the  Workman  is  divine. 

"  "What  now  seem  random  strokes,  will  there 
All  order  and  design  appear  ; 
Then  shall  Ave  praise  what  here  we  spurned, 
For  then  the  carpet  will  be  turned." 

"  Thou'rt  right,"  quoth  Dick  ;   "  no  more  I'll 

grumble 
That  this  world  is  so  strange  a  jumble. 
My  impious  doubts  are  put  to  flight, 
For  my  own  carpet  sets  me  right." 

Hannaii  Mobe. 


THE   ART  OF  COXVERSATION. 

FIRST  party  (opening  conversation):  "  'Ave  you  'card 
as  Jim  Bates's  father  says  he'll  give 'im  the  sack?" 
Second  ditto  (after  pause):  "Whose  father?"  —  First 
ditto:  "Why,  Jim  Bates's  !"  — Second  ditto  (after 
pause):  "Jim  Bates's  who?"  —  First  ditto:  "Why, 
Jim  Bates's  father!"  —  Second  ditto  (after  pause): 
"Jim  Bates's  father!  Well,  what  does  he  say?"  — 
First  ditto  :  "Says  he'll  give  'im  the  sack  I"  —  Second 
ditto  (after  pause):  "Give  'im  the  what?"  —  First 
ditto:  "  fJive  'im  the  sack!"  —  Second  ditto  (after 
j)ause) :  "  Give  who  tlie  sack  ?  "  —  First  ditto  :  "  Why, 
.Jim  Bates  !  "  —  Second  ditto  (after  long  pause) :  "  Ah, 
1  'card  that  the  day  before  yesterday  I " 

Ihinch. 


BOBBY.  281 


BOBBY 


A  HIGHLAND  family  of  some  dignity,  but  not 
much  means,  was  to  receive  a  visit  from  some 
Englisli  relations  for  the  first  time.  Great  was  the 
anxiety  and  great  the  eflbrts  to  make  things  wear  a 
respectable  appearance  before  these  assumedly  fastid- 
ious strangers.  The  lady  had  contrived  to  get  up  a 
pretty  good  dinner  ;  but,  either  from  an  indulgent  dis- 
position, or  from  some  defect  in  her  set  of  servants, 
she  allowed  her  son  Bobby,  a  little  boy,  to  be  present, 
instead  of  remanding  him  to  the  nursery.  But  little 
was  she  aware  of  Bobby's  power  of  torture. 

Bobby,  who  was  dressed  in  a  new  jacket  and  a  pair 
of  butf- colored  trousers,  had  previously  received  strict 
injunctions  to  sit  at  a  side  table  quietly,  and  on  no 
account  to  join  in  conversation.  For  a  little  Avhilo  he 
carried  out  these  instructions  by  sitting  perfectly 
quiet  till  the  last  guest  had  been  helped  to  soup, 
whereupon,  during  a  slight  lull  in  the  general  conver- 
sation, Bobby  quietly  said,  — 

"  I  want  some  soup,  mamma." 

"  You  can't  be  allowed  to  have  any  soup,  Bobby. 
You  must  not  always  be  asking  for  things,'' 

"  If  you  don't  give  me  some  soup  immediately,  111 
tell  yon ! " 

The  lady  seemed  a  little  troubled,  and  instead  of 
sending  Bobby  out  of  the  room,  quietly  yielded  to  his 
demand.  Soup  being  removed,  and  fish  introduced, 
there  was  a  fresh  demand. 

''  Aramma,  I  want  some  sea-fish  "  (a  rarity  in  the 
Highlands). 


282  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

''  Bobby,"  said  the  mother,  "  you  are  very  forward. 
You  can't  get  any  fish.  You  must  sit  quietly,  and  not 
trouble  us  so  much.'' 

"  Well,  mamma,  if  I  don't  get  some  filsh,  mind  I'll  tell 
yon  J " 

"  0  Bobby,  you're  a  plague  !  "  and  then  she  gave 
him  the  fish. 

A  little  further  on  in  the  dinner,  Bobby,  observing 
his  papa  and  the  guests  taking  wine,  was  pleased  to 
break  in  once  more. 

"  Papa,  I  would  like  a  glass  of  wine  ! " 

By  this  time,  as  might  well  be  supposed,  the  atten- 
tion of  the  company  had  been  pretty  fully  drawn  to 
Bobby,  about  whom,  in  all  probability,  there  prevailed 
but  one  opinion.  The  father  was  irritated  at  the 
incident. 

"  Bobby,  you  must  be  quiet ;  you  can  have  no 
wine." 

"  Well,  papa,  if  I  don't  get  some  wine,  mind  —  I'll 
tell  yon." 

"  You  rascal,  you  shall  have  no  wine." 

"  You  had  better  do  it,"  answered  Bobby,  firmly. 
"  Once,  twice  —  will  you  give  me  the  wine  ?  Come 
now,  mind  I'll  tell  yon.     Once,  twice  —  " 

The  father  looked  canes  and  lashes  at  his  progeny. 
Bobby,  however,  was  not  to  be  daunted. 

"  Here  goes  now  !  Once  —  twice  —  will  j'ou  do  it? 
Once  —  twice  —  thrice  !  My  trousers  were  made 
out  of  mother's  old  window  curtains  !  " 

Stiff  English  party  dissolves  in  unconstrainable 
merriment. 

DB.  BoBEUT  CilAHBESS. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  OROAN-BUILDER.      283 


THE   LEGEND   OF  THE  ORGAN-BUILDER. 

DAY  by  day  the  Organ-Builder  in  his  lonely  chamber 
wrought ; 
Day  by  day  the   soft   air  trembled  to  the  music  of  his 
thought ; 

Till  at  last  the  work  was  ended ;  and  no  organ  voice  so 

grand 
Ever  yet  had  soared  responsive  to  the  master's  magic  hand. 

Ay,  so  rarely  was  it  builded  that  whenever  groom  and 

bride, 
Who  in  God's  sight  were  well-pleasing,  in  the  church  stood 

side  by  side, 

Without  touch  or  breath  the  organ  of  itself  began  to  play. 
And  the   very   airs   of  heaven   through   the   soit   gloom 
seemed  to  stray. 

He  was  young,  the  Organ-Builder,  and  o'er  all  the  land 

his  fame 
Ran  with  fleet  and  eager  footsteps,  like  a  swiftly  rushing 

flame. 

All  the  maidens  heard  the  story  ;  all  the  maidens  blushed 

and  smiled. 
By  his  youth  and  wondrous  beauty  and  his  great  renown 

beguiled. 

So  he  sought  and  won  the  fairest,  and  the  wedding-day 

was  set : 
Happy  day  —  the  brightest  jewel  in  the  glad  year's  coronet! 

But  when  they  the  portal  entered,  he  forgot  his  lovely 

bride  — 
Forgot  his  love,  forgot  his  God,   and  his  heart  swelled 

high  with  pride. 


284        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

0 

"Ah  I  "  thought  he,  "liow  great  a  master  am  I  !     AVhen 

the  organ  plan's, 
How  the  vast  cathedral-arches  will  re-echo  witli  my  praise  ! " 

Up  the  aisle  the  gay  procession  moved.     The  altar  shone 

afar, 
With  its   every  candle  gleaming  through   soft  shadows 

like  a  star. 

But  he  listened,  listened,  listened,  with  no  thought  of 
love  or  prayer, 

For  the  swelling  notes  of  triumph  from  his  organ  stand- 
ing there. 

All  was  silent.     Nothing  heard  he  save  the  priest's  low 

monotone. 
And  the    biidc's    robe   trailing  softly   o'er  the   floor  of 

fretted  stone. 

Then  his  lips  grew  white  with  anger.      Surely  God  was 

pleased  with  him 
Who  had  built  the  wondrous  organ  for  his  temple  vast 

and  dim  ! 

Whose  the   fault,  then?     Hers  —  the    maiden    standing 

meekly  at  his  side  ! 
Flamed  his  jeah)us  rage,  maintaining  she  was  false  to 

liim  —  his  bride. 

Vain  were  all  her  protestations,  vain  her  innocence  and 

truth  ; 
On  tliat  very  night  lie  loft  her  to  her  anguish  and  her  ruth, 

Far  he  wandered  to  a  country  wherein  no  man  knew  his 

name ; 
For  ten  weary  years    he   dwelt  there,  nursing   still   his 

wrath  and  shame. 

Then  his  haughty  heart  grew  softer,  and  he  thought  by 

niglit  and  day 
Of  the  bride  he  had  deserted,  till  he  hardly  dared  to  pray  ; 


TUE   LEGEND   OF  THE   ORGAN-BUILDER.  285 

Thought  of  her,  a  spotless  maiden,  fair  and  beautiful  and 

good  ; 
Thought   of    his   relentless   anger,   that  had   cursed   her 

womanhood  ; 

Till   his   yearning   grief  and   penitence   at  last  were   all 

complete, 
And  he  longed,  with  bitter  longing,  just  to  fall  down  at 

her  feet. 

•  •••••••• 

Ah  !  how  throbbed  his  heart  when,  after  many  a  weary 

day  and  night, 
Rose  his  native  towers  before  him,  with  the  sunset  glow 

alight  1 

Through  the  gates  into  the  city  on  he  pressed  with  eager 

tread ; 
There  he  met  a  long   procession  —  mourners  following 

the  dead. 

"  Now  why  weep  ye  so,  good  people  ?  and  whom  bury 

ye  to-day  ? 
Why  do  yonder  sorrowing  maidens  scatter  flowers  along 

the  way  i* 

"Has  some  saint  gone   up  to  heaven?"     "Yes,"  they 

answered,  weeping  sore  ; 
"  For  the  Organ-Builder's  saintly  wife  our  eyes  shall  see 

no  more  ; 

"  And  because  her  days  were  given  to  the  service  of 

God's  poor. 
From  His  church  we  mean  to  bury  her.     See  !  yonder  is 

the  door." 

No  one  knew  him  ;  no  one  wondered  when  he  cried  out, 

white  with  pain  ; 
No  one  questioned  when,  with  pallid  lips,  he  poured  his 

tears  like  rain. 


28G  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  'Tis  some   one  whom  she  has  comforted  who   mourns 

with  us,"  tliey  said, 
As  he  made  his  way  unchallenged,  and  bore  the  coffin's 

head  ; 

Bore  it  through  the  open  portal,  bore  it  up  the  echoing 

aisle, 
Let  it  down  before  the   altar,  where  the  lights  burned 

clear  the  while  : 

When,  0,  hark  I  the  wondrous  organ  of  itself  began  to 

play 
Strains  of  rare,   unearthly  sweetness   never  heard  until 

that  day  ! 

All  the  vaulted  arches  rang  with  the  music  sweet  and 

clear ; 
All  the  air  was  filled  with  glory,  as  of  angels  hovering 

near ; 

And  ere  yet  the    strain   was   ended,   he   who   bore   the 

coffin's  head, 
With  the  smile  of  one  forgiven,  gently  sank  beside  it — 

dead. 

They  who  raised  the  body  knew  him,  and  they  laid  him 

by  his  bride  ; 
Down  the  aisle  and  o'er  the  threshold  they  were  carried, 

side  by  side ; 

While  the  organ  played  a  dirge  that  no  man  ever  heard 
before, 

And  then  softly  sank  to  silence  —  silence  kept  for  ever- 
more. 

Harper's  Magazine. 


UNDER   THE  WAGON.  287 


UNDER  THE  WAGON. 

"  /^OME,  wife,"  says  good  old  Farmer-Gray, 
V^     "  Put  on  your  things  ;   'tis  market-day  ; 
Let's  be  off  to  tbe  nearest  town  — 
There  and  back  ere  tlio  sun  goes  down. 
Spot!     No,  we'll  leave  old  Spot  behind." 
But  Spot  he  barked,  and  Spot  ho  whined, 
And  soon  made  up  his  doggish  mind 
To  steal  away  under  the  wagon. 

Away  they  went  at  a  good  round  pace, 
And  joy  came  into  the  farmer's  face. 
"  Poor  Spot,"  said  he,  "  did  want  to  come. 
But  I'm  very  glad  he's  left  at  home. 
He'll  guard  the  barn  and  guard  the  cot. 
And  keep  the  cattle  out  of  the  lot." 
"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  growled  Spot, 
The  little  dog  under  the  wagon. 

The  farmer  all  his  produce  sold. 
And  got  his  pay  in  yellow  gold, 
Then  started  home,  just  after  dark  — 
Home  through  the  lonely  forest.     Hark  ! 
A  robber  springs  from  behind  a  tree  : 
"  Your  money  or  else  your  life  !  "  said  he. 
The  moon  was  out,  yet  he  didn't  see 
The  little  dog  under  the  wagon. 

Old  Spot  he  barked,  old  Spot  he  whined. 
And  Spot  he  grabbed  the  thief  behind 
And  dragged  him  down  in  mud  and  dirt. 
He  tore  his  coat  and  tore  his  shirt ; 
He  held  him  with  a  whisk  and  bound. 
And  he  couldn't  rise  from  the  miry  ground  ; 
While  his  legs  and  arms  the  fiirmer  bound. 
And  tumbled  him  into  the  wagon. 

Old  Spot  he  saved  the  farmer's  life. 
The  farmer's  money,  the  farmer's  wife  ; 


288  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

And  «ow  a  licro,  grand  and  gay, 
A  silver  collar  he  wears  to-day ; 
And  everywlicre  his  master  goes, 
Among  his  friends,  among  his  foes, 
He  follows  upon  his  horny  toes, 
The  little  dog  under  the  wagon  ! 


A  BOY'S  JOURNAL. 

THERE  is  much  to  be  said  in  favor  of  keeping  a 
regular  account  of  our  doings  from  day  to  day. 
The  following  is  an  American  boy's  attempt  in  this 
line :  — 

March  12.     Have  resolved  to  keep  a  journal. 

March  13.  Had  rost  befe  for  diner,  and  cabages, 
and  potato,  and  appel  sawse,  and  rice  puding.  I  do 
not  like  rice  puding  when  it  is  like  ours.  Charley 
Slack's  kind  is  rele  good.     Mush  and  sirup  for  tea. 

March  19.  Forgit  what  did.  John  and  me  saved 
our  pie  to  take  to  schule. 

March  21.  Forgit  what  did.  Gridel  cakes  for 
breakfast.     Debby  didn't  fry  cnuff. 

March  24.  This  is  Sunday.  Corn  befe  for  diner. 
Studdied  'ray  Bible  lesson.  Aunt  Issy  said  I  was 
gredy.  Have  resollved  not  to  think  so  much  about 
things  to  ete.  Wish  I  was  a  better  boy.  Nothing 
pertikeler  for  tea. 

Marcli  25.     Forgit  what  did. 

March  27.     Forgit  what  did. 

March  29.     Played. 

March  31.     Forgit  what  did. 

April  1.  Have  dissided  not  to  keep  a  journal  no 
more. 


THE   LAST   SERPENT.  289 


THE   LAST   SERPENT. 

AN  IRISH   LEGEND. 

EVERYBODY  has  heard  of  St.  Patrick,  and  how 
he  bothered  the  vermin  of  Ireland,  and  drove  all 
manner  of  venomous  things  out  of  the  land  into  the 
sea. 

But  there  was  one  old  serpent  too  cunning  to  bo 
talked  out  of  the  country,  and  to  drown  himself.  The 
Saint  did  not  know  avcU  how  to  manage  this  fellow ; 
but  at  last  he  bethought  him  of  getting  a  strong  iron 
chest,  w*th  nine  bolts  to  it.  So  one  fine  morning  the 
Saint  takes  a  walk  to  where  the  serpent  used  to 
sleep.  Not  liking  his  reverence  in  the  least,  the 
brute  began  to  hiss  and  show  his  teeth. 

"  0,"  says  St.  Patrick,  "  what  is  the  use  of  making  so 
much  ado  about  a  gentleman  like  myself  coming  to  see 
you  ?  Here  is  a  nice  house  that  I  have  got  for  you 
to  winter  in ;  for  I  am  to  civilize  the  whole  country, 
man  and  beast." 

Hearing  such  smooth  words,  the  serpent  thought 
no  harm  meant  to  himself ;  so,  fair  and  easy,  he  comes 
up  to  see  the  saint  and  his  house.  But  the  siglit  of 
the  nine  bolts  made  him  think  of  making  off  with 
himself. 

"  'Tis  a  warm  house,  you  see,"  says  St.  Patrick, 
"  and  a  good  friend  I  am  to  you." 

"  I  thank  you  kindly  for  your  civility,"  says  the  ser- 
pent, turning  away,  "  but  it  is  too  small  for  mc." 

''  Too  small !  "  cried  tho  saint ;  "  you  arc  out  there, 
19 


290  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

my  boy,  anyhow.  I  stake  a  gallon  of  porter  that  if 
you  only  try  to  get  in  you  will  find  in  it  plenty  of 
room." 

The  serpent  was  thirsty,  and  with  great  joy  he  set 
himself  to  do  St.  Patrick  out  of  the  gallon  of  porter ; 
so,  swelling  himself  up  as  big  as  he  could,  he  got  into 
the  chest  all  but  a  little  bit  of  his  tail. 

"  There,  now,"  cried  he,  ''  I  have  won  the  gallon, 
for  I  cannot  get  in  my  tail." 

What  does  St.  Patrick  do  ?  Coming  behind  the 
great  heavy  lid,  and  putting  his  two  hands  to  it,  he 
slaps  it  down  with  a  bang  like  thunder.  The  rogue 
of  a  serpent,  when  the  lid  was  coming  down,  whipped 
in  his  tail,  for  fear  it  might  be  whijjped  off;  and  the 
Saint  at  once  began  to  bolt  the  nine  bolts. 

"  0,  murder  !  let  me  out !  let  me  out !  St.  Patrick," 
cried  the  serpent ;  "  I  have  lost  the  gallon,  and  I  will 
pay  for  it  like  a  man," 

•'  Let  you  out,  my  darling  !  "  cried  the  Saint ;  ''  to 
be  sure  I  will,  by  all  manner  of  means  ;  but  I  have  no 
time  now,  so  you  must  wait  till  to-morrow."  Then 
lie  pitched  the  chest  into  the  lake,  where  it  is  to  tliis 
liour ;  and  it  is  the  serpent  struggling  at  the  bottom 
that  makes  the  waves  upon  it. 

Many  a  living  man  has  heard  the  serpent  crying 
from  under  the  water,  "  Is  it  to-morrow  yet  ?  Is  it 
to-morrow  yet  ?  "  which,  to  be  sure,  it  never  can  be  ; 
and  this  is  the  way  that  St.  Patrick  settled  the  last 
of  the  serpents. 

T.  CUOFTON  CkOKER. 


A   DOMESTIC   SCENE.  291 


A  DOMESTIC   SCENE. 

CHILD.  —  Mother,  I  want  a  piece  of  cake. 
Mother.  —  I  haven't  got  any  ;  it's  all  gone. 

Child. — I  know  there's  some  in  the  cupboard;  I 
saw  it  when  you  opened  the  door. 

Mother.  —  "Well,  you  don't  need  any  more.  Cake 
hurts  children. 

Child.  —  No  it  don't  {whinincj).  I  do  want  a  piece. 
Mother,  mayn't  I  have  a  piece  ? 

Mother.  —  Be  still;  I  can't  get  up  now.     I'm  busy. 

Child  [crying  aloud).  —  I  want  a  piece  of  cake  !  I 
want  a  piece  of  cake  ! 

Mother.  —  Be  still,  I  say.  I  shan't  give  you  a  bit 
if  you  don't  leave  off  crying. 

Child  [still  crying).  —  1  want  a  piece  of  cake  !  I 
want  a  piece  of  cake  ! 

Mother  {rising  hastily,  and  reaching  a  ^jiece). — 
There,  take  that ;  and  hold  your  tongue.  Eat  it  up 
quick.  There's  Ben  coming.  Don't  tell  him  you 
have  had  some  cake,  now. 

(Ben  e) iters.) 

Child.  —  I've  had  a  piece  of  cake,  Ben  ;  you  can't 
have  any. 

Ben.  —  Yes,  I  will.     Mother,  give  me  a  piece. 

Mother  [very  cross).  —  There,  take  that !  It  seems 
as  if  I  never  could  keep  a  bit  of  anything  in  the  house. 
You'll  see,  sir,  if  I  give  you  any  another  time. 

(Another  room.) 

Child.  —  I've  had  a  piece  of  cake. 

Younger  Sister.  —  0,  I  want  some,  too. 

Child.  — Well,  you  bawl,  and  mother'U  give  you 
a  bit.     I  did. 


292        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE  SWEETS   OF  LIBERTY. 

A  GENEROUS  tar,  who  long  had  been 
In  foreign  prison  pent, 
Released  at  length,  returned  again 
Brimful  of  merriment.  , 

A  man  who  had  some  birds  to  sell 

Was  just  then  passing  by  ; 
Jack  glanced  at  the  poor  fluttering  things 

With  sorrowing,  pitying  eye. 

He  paused  amid  the  gaping  throng, 

Before  the  seller's  stall  : 
"  Now  hark  ye,  friend,  just  name  your  price 

For  birds  and  cage  and  all." 

Tlie  price  was  named,  the  sura  was  paid, 

The  saihjr  seized  the  prize  ; 
And  quickly  from  the  opened  door 

A  young  canaiy  flies. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  the  bird-seller,  amazed, 

"  They're  all  escaping  fast." 
"  That's  right,"  said  Jack,  and  held  the  door 

Till  all  were  gone  at  last. 

"  Had  you,"  said  Jack,  "  been  doomed,  like  me, 

111  prison  long  to  lie. 
You'd  better  understand,  my  friend, 

The  sweets  of  liberty." 


A   LETTER    OF   BLUNDERS.  293 


A  LETTER  OF   BLUNDERS. 

PERTTAPS  the  best  collection  of  blunders,  such  as 
occur  in  all  nations,  but  which,  of  course,  are 
Withered  upon  Paddy  wholesale,  as  if  by  common 
consent,  is  the  following  :  — 

Copy  of  a  Letter  written  during  the  Rchellion  by  an 
Irish  3Iember  of  Parliament,  to  his  friend  in 
London. 
My  dear  Sir  :  Having  now  a  little  peace  and  quiet- 
ness, I  sit  down  to  inform  you  of  the  dreadful  bustle 
and  confusion  we  are  in  from  these  bloodthirsty  rebels, 
most  of  whom  are,  I  am  glad  to  say,  killed  and  dis- 
persed. We  are  in  a  pretty  mess,  can  get  nothing  to 
eat,  nor  wine  to  drink,  except  whiskey,  and  when  we 
sit  down  to  dinner  we  are  obliged  to  keep  both  hands 
armed.  Whilst  I  write  this,  I  hold  a  sword  in  each 
hand  and  a  pistol  in  the  other.  I  concluded  from  the 
beginning  that  this  would  be  the  end  of  it,  and  I  see  I 
was  right,  for  it  is  not  half  over  yet.  At  present 
there  are  such  goings  on  that  everything  is  at  a  stand- 
still. 

I  should  have  answered  your  letter  a  fortnight  ago, 
but  I  did  not  receive  it  till  this  morning.  Lideed, 
scarcely  a  mail  arrives  safe  without  being  robbed.  No 
longer  ago  than  yesterday  the  coach  with  the  mails 
from  Dublin  was  robbed  near  this  town  ;  the  bags  liad 
been  judiciously  left  behind  for  fear  of  accident,  and 
by  good  luck  there  was  nobody  in  it  but  two  outside 
passengers,  who  had  nothing  for  the  thieves  to  take. 


294  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Last  Thursday  notice  was  given  that  a  gang  of  reb- 
els was  advancing  here  under  the  French  standard, 
but  they  had  no  colors ,  nor  any  drums  except  bag- 
pipes. Immediately  every  man  in  the  place,  including 
women  and  children,  ran  out  to  meet  them.  We  soon 
found  our  force  much  too  little  ;  we  were  far  too  near 
to  think  of  retreating.  Death  was  in  every  face,  but 
to  it  we  went,  and  by  the  time  half  our  little  party 
were  killed,  we  began  to  be  all  alive  again.  Fortu- 
nately the  rebels  had  no  guns,  except  pistols,  cutlasses, 
and  pikes,  and  as  we  had  plenty  of  muskets  and  am- 
munition, we  put  them  all  to  the  sword.  Not  a  soul 
of  them  escaped,  except  some  that  were  drowned  in 
an  adjacent  bog,  and,  in  a  very  short  time,  nothing 
was  to  be  heard  but  silence.  Their  uniforms  were  all 
difierent  colors,  but  mostly  green.  After  the  action 
we  went  to  rummage  a  sort  of  camp,  which  they  had 
left  behind  them.  All  we  found  was  a  few  pikes 
without  heads,  a  parcel  of  empty  bottles  full  of  water, 
and  a  bundle  of  French  commissions  filled  up  with 
Irish  names.  Troops  are  now  stationed  all  round  the 
country,  which  exactly  squares  with  my  ideas. 

I  have  only  time  to  add  that  I  am  in  great  haste. 
Yours  truly, 


P.  S.  If  you  do  not  receive  this,  of  course  it  must 
have  miscarried,  therefore  I  beg  you  will  write  to  let 
me  know. 


ON  THE  RAMPARTS  BARE.  '         295 


"ON  THE  RAMPARTS  BARE,  STOOD  THE 
LADY  FAIR." 

ON  the  ramparts  bare,  stood  the  lady  fair, 
And  the  cold  winds  around  her  blew. 
She  called  to  the  warder  to  take  good  care. 
And  the  warder  was  bold  and  true. 

"  0  warder !  guard  the  watch-lights  well  — 
Not  a  star  's  to  be  seen  to-night, 
But  the  breezes  swell,  and  the  signals  tell 
That  the  fleet  of  my  lord  is  in  sight." 

"  0  lady  dear  !     The  fire  burns  clear. 
And  the  drawbridge  is  ready  to  fall, 
And  the  yeomen  stand  by  the  road  on  the  sand 
To  guard  thy  lord  to  his  hall." 

"  Methinks  I  hear  the  battle  rage 

And  the  fugitives  fly  o'er  the  strand." 

"  'Tis  only  a  page  who  brings  this  gage 
That  the  fleet  of  thy  lord  is  at  hand." 

"  Apd  dost  thou  tell  that  my  lord  is  well  ? 

Doth  conquest  crown  his  toil  'i  " 
"  On  victory's  wings  he  met  the  sca-kingg. 

And  fought  with  the  lord  of  the  Isle." 

"  Let  the  castle-gate  be  opened  straight, 
And  the  blazing  torches  light ; 
And  haste,  Montjoie,  and  wake  m}""  bo^'' !  — 
He  shall  see  his  dear  father  to-night. 

"And  dost  thou  weep,  when  awaked  from  sleep, 
On  the  niglit  of  such  ibstal  glee  ; 
Thou  ilidst  oft  inquire  if  thou  hadst  a  sire. 
And  a  noble  sire  thou  shalt  see. 


296  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  So  straight  and  so  tall  he  stands  in  the  hall, 
The  chief  of  a  thousand  for  grace, 
Though  the  deeds  he  hath  done  and  the  battles  he 
hath  won 
Have  marred  and  scarred  his  face. 

"  Betray  no  fear  when  the  trumpets  cheer, 
For  a  soldier's  boy  tiiou  art ; 
Thy  blood  must  not  quail  at  the  cold  iron  mail 
When  pressed  to  a  hero's  heart. 

"  Thou  wast  but  a  babe  when  he  went  to  fight ; 
Thou  art  now  a  sprightly  boy  ; 
Thy  father  will  clasp  thee  with  fond  delight, 
And  thy  mother  will  weep  for  joy. 

"  Wlien  weak  and  pale  with  many  an  ail 
I  held  thee  in  my  arms  ; 
While  others  slept  I  prayed  and  wept, 
And  gazed  on  thy  faded  charms. 

"  '  Sir  Arthur's  race  will  be  lost,'  I  said, 
'  His  honors  a  stranger  shall  seize  ; 
The  father  will  die  in  victory's  bed. 
And  the  boy  will  die  of  disease.' 

"  But  rosy  and  sleek  is  thy  youthful  cheek, 
And  thy  sire  is  crowned  with  success  ; 
And  unborn  swains  who  till  those  plains 
The  line  of  Sir  Arthur  shall  bless. 

".Through  the  dubious  gloom  I  see  his  plume. 
And  his  well-known  voice  I  hear  ;  — 
From  the  battle's  strife  to  thy  son  and  wife, 
Now  welcome  my  lord  most  dear." 


COUNT    CANDESPINA'S   STANDARD.  297 


COUNT    CANDESPINA'S    STANDARD. 

"The  King  of  Aragon  now  entered  Castile,  by  way  of  Soria  and 
Osnia,  witii  a  powerful  army ;  and,  having  been  met  by  the  queen's 
forces,  both  parties  encamped  near  Sopulveda,  and  prepared  to  give 
battle. 

"This  engagement,  called,  from  the  field  where  it  took  place, 
(de  la  Espina,)  is  one  of  the  most  famous  of  that  age.  The  das- 
tardly Count  of  Lara  tied  at  the  first  shock,  and  joined  the  queen 
at  Burgos,  where  she  was  anxiously  awaiting  the  issue ;  but  the 
brave  Count  of  Candespina  (Gomez  Gonzalez)  stood  his  ground  to 
the  last,  and  died  on  the  field  of  battle.  His  stamlard-bearer,  a 
gentleman  of  the  house  of  Olea,  after  having  his  horse  killed  under 
liim,  and  both  hands  cut  off  by  sabre-strokes,  fell  beside  his  master, 
still  clasping  the  standard  in  h.is  arms,  and  repeating  his  war-cry  of 
*01ea!'" — Annals  of  the  Qceens  of  Spain. 

SCARCE  were  the  splintered  lances  dropped, 
Scarce  were  the  swords  drawn  out, 
Ere  recreant  Lara,  sick  with  fear, 
Had  wheeled  his  steed  about : 

His  courser  reared,  and  plunged,  and  neighed. 

Loathing  the  fight  to  yield  ; 
But  the  coward  spurred  him  to  the  bone, 

And  drove  him  from  the  field. 

Gonzalez  in  his  stirrups  rose  : 

"Turn,  turn,  thou  traitor  knight! 

Thou  bold  tongue  in  a  lady's  bower. 
Thou  dastard  in  a  fight !  " 

But  vainly  valiant  Gomez  cried 
Across  the  waning  fray  : 
.    Pale  Lara  and  his  craven  band 
To  Burgos  scoured  away. 


"  Now,  by  the  God  above  me,  sirs. 
Better  we  all  were  dead, 
Than  a  single  knight  among  ye  all 
Should  ride  where  Lara  led  ! 


298        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"Yet  ye  who  fear  to  follow  mo, 
As  yon  traitor  turn  and  fly  ; 
For  I  lead  ye  not  to  win  a  field  : 
1  lead  ye  forth  to  die.       • 

"  Olca,  plant  my  standard  here  — 
Here  on  this  little  mound  ; 
Ilere  raise  the  war-cry  of  thy  house. 
Make  this  our  rallying  ground, 

"  Forget  not,  as  thou  hop'st  for  grace, 
The  last  care  I  shall  have 
Will  be  to  hear  thy  battle-cry, 
And  see  that  standard  wave." 

Down  on  the  ranks  of  Aragon 

The  bold  Gonzalez  drove, 
And  Olea  raised  his  battle-cry. 

And  waved  the  flag  above. 

Slowly  Gonzalez'  little  band 
Gave  ground  before  the  foe ; 

But  not  an  inch  of  the  field  was  won 
Without  a  deadly  blow  ; 

And  not  an  inch  of  the  field  was  won 

That  did  not  draw  a  tear 
From  the  widowed  wives  of  Aragon, 

That  fatal  news  to  hear. 

Backward  and  backward  Gomez  fought. 
And  high  o'er  the  clashing  steel, 

Plainer  and  plainer  rose  the  cry, 
"Olea  for  Castile!" 

Backward  fought  Gomez,  stop  by  step, 
Till  the  cry  was  close  at  hand, 

Till  his  dauntless  standard  shadowed  him  ; 
And  there  he  made  his  stand. 


COUNT   CANDESPINA'S   STANDARD.  299 

Mace,  Rword,  and  axo  rang  on  his  mail, 

Yet  he  moved  not  where  he  stood, 
Though  each  gaping  joint  of  armor  ran 

A  stream  of  purple  blood. 

As,  pierced  with  countless  wounds,  he  fell, 

Tlie  standard  caught  his  eye. 
And  he  smiled,  like  an  infant  hushed  asleep, 

To  hear  the  battle-cry. 

Now  one  by  one  the  wearied  kniglits 

Have  fallen,  or  basely  flown  ; 
And  on  the  mound  where  his  post  was  fixed 

Olea  stood  alone. 

"  Yield  up  thy  banner,  gallant  knight  I 
Thy  lord  lies  on  the  plain  ; 
Thy  duty  has  been  nobly  done, 
I  would  not  see  thee  slain." 

"  Spare  pity,  King  of  Aragon  ! 
I  would  not  hear  thee  lie  : 
My  lord  is  looking  down  from  heaven 
To  see  his  standard  fly." 

"Yield,  madman,  yield  !  thy  horse  is  down, 
Thou  hast  nor  lance  nor  shield  ; 
Fly  !     I  will  grant  thee  time."     "  This  flag 
Can  neither  fly  nor  yield  !  " 

They  girt  the  standard  round  about, 

A  wall  of  flashing  steel ; 
But  still  they  heard  the  battle-cry, 

"  Olea  for  Castile  !  " 

And  there,  against  all  Aragon, 

Full-armed  with  lance  and  brand, 
Olea  fought  until  tlie  sword 

Snapped  in  his  sturdy  hand. 


300        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Among  the  foe,  with  that  high  scorn 
Wliich  hiuglis  at  earthly  fears, 

He  hurled  the  broken  hilt,  and  drew 
Ilis  dagger  on  the  spears. 

They  hewed  the  hauberk  from  his  breast, 

The  helmet  from  his  head  ; 
They  hewed  the  hands  from  off  his  limbs ; 

From  every  vein  he  bled. 

Clasping,  the  standard  to  his  heart, 

lie  raised  one  dying  peal, 
That  rang  as  if  a  trumpet  blew, — 

"  Olea  for  Castile  !  " 

Geo.  II.  BoKER. 


A   CLEVER   TRICK. 

AYOUXG  man,  of  oiglitecn  or  twenty,  a  student  in 
the  university,  took  a  walk  one  day  with  a  pro- 
fessor, who  was  commonly  called  the  student's  friend, 
such  was  his  kindness  to  the  young  men  whom  it  was 
his  office  to  instruct. 

While  they  were  walking  together,  and  the  profes- 
sor was  seeking  to  lead  the  conversation  to  grave 
subjects,  they  saw  a  pair  of  old  shoes  lying  in  the 
path,  which  they  supposed  belonged  to  a  poor  man 
who  was  at  work  in  the  field  close  by,  and  who  had 
nearly  fini.shed  his  day's  work. 

The  young  student  turned  to  the  professor,  saying, 
"  Let  us  play  the  nlan  a  trick.  We  will  hide  his  shoes, 
and  conceal  ourselves  behind  those  bushes,  and  watch 
to  see  his  perplexity  when  he  cannot  find  them." 


A   CLEVER   TRICK.  301 

"  My  dear  friend,"  answered  the  professor,  "  we 
must  never  amuse  ourselves  at  the  expense  of  the 
poor.  But  you  are  rich,  and  you  may  give  yourself  a 
much  greater  pleasure  by  means  of  this  poor  man. 
Put  a  dollar  in  each  shoe,  and  then  we  will  hide  our- 
selves." 

The  student  did  so,  and  then  placed  himself  with 
the  professor,  behind  the  bushes  hard  by,  through 
which  they  could  easily  watch  the  laborer,  and  see 
whatever  wonder  or  joy  he  might  express. 

The  poor  man  soon  finished  his  work,  and  came 
across  the  field  to  the  path,  wdiere  he  had  left  his  coat 
and  shoes.  While  he  put  on  the  coat,  he  slipped  one 
foot  into  one  of  his  shoes;  but  feeling  something 
hard,  he  stooped  down,  and  found  the  dollar.  Aston- 
ishment and  wonder  were  seen  upon  his  countenance  ; 
he  gazed  upon  the  dollar,  turned  it  round,  and  looked 
again  and  again  ;  then  he  looked  around  on  all  sides 
but  could  see  no  one.  Now  he  put  the  money  into 
his  pocket,  and  proceeded  to  put  on  the  other  shoe  ; 
but  how  great  was  his  astonishment  when  he  found 
the  other  dollar  !  His  feelings  overcame  him  :  he  fell 
upon  his  knees,  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  uttered 
aloud  a  fervent  thanksgiving,  in  which  he  spoke  of 
his  wife,  sick  and  helpless,  and  his  children  without 
bread,  Avhom  this  timely  bounty  from  some  unknown 
hand  would  save  from  perishing. 

The  young  man  stood  there  deeply  affected,  and 
tears  filled  his  eyes. 


302        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


KATIE  LEE  AND   WILLIE   GRAY. 

TWO  brown  hoads  with  tossing  curls, 
Red  lips  sliutting-  over  pesirls, 
Bare  feet,  white,  and  wet  witli  dew, 
Two  eyes  black,  and  two  eyes  blue  — 
Little  boy  and  jj^irl  are  they, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray. 

They  were  standing  where  a  brook, 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook. 
Flashed  its  silver,  and  thick  ranks 
Of  willow  fringed  its  banks, 
Half  in  tliouglit  and  half  in  play, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray. 

They  had  cheeks  like  cherries  red  ; 

lie  was  taller  'most  a  head  ; 

She,  with  arms  like  wreaths  of  snow, 

Swung  a  basket  to  and  fro 

(As  they  loitered,  lialf  in  play), 

Chattering  to  Willie  Gray. 

"  Pretty  Katie,"  Willie  said,  — 
And  there  came  a  dash  of  red 
Through  the  brownness  of  the  cheek,  — 
"  Boys  are  strong,  and  girls  are  weak, 
And  I'll  carry,  so  I  will, 
Katie's  basket  up  the  hill." 

Katie  answered,  with  a  laugh,  — 
"  You  shall  f)rdy  carry  half;  " 
Tlifn  said,  tossing  back  her  curls, 
"  Boys  are  weak  as  well  as  girls." 
Do  you  think  that  Katie  guessed 
Half  the  wisdom  she  expressed  ? 


KATIE   LEE   AND   WILLIE   GRAY.  303 

Men  arc  only  boys  grown  tall  ; 
Iloarts  don't  change  inucli,  after  all  ; 
And  wlion,  long  years  from  that  day, 
Katie  Lee  and  Willie  Gray 
Stood  again  beside  the  brook 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook,  — 

Is  it  strange  that  Willie  said, 
While  again  a  dash  of  red 
Crowned  the  brownncss  of  his  cheek, 
"  I  am  strong  and  you  are  weak  ; 
Life  is  but  a  slippery  steep, 
Hung  with  shadows  cold  and  deep. 

"  Will  you  trust  mo,  Katie  dear  — 
Walk  beside  me  witliout  fear  ? 
May  1  carry,  if  1  will. 
All  your  burdens  up  the  hill  ?  " 
And  she  answered,  with  a  laugh, 
"  No,  but  you  may  carry  half."' 

Close  beside  the  little  brook. 
Bending  like  a  shepherd's  crook, 
Working  with  its  silver  hands 
Late  and  early  at  the  sands, 
Stands  a  cottage,  where  to-day 
Katie  lives  with  Willie  Gray. 

In  the  porch  she  sits,  and,  lo  ! 
Swings  a  basket  to  and  fro. 
Vastly  dilierent  from  the  one 
That  she  swung  in  years  agone  : 
This  is  long,  and  deep,  and  wide, 
And  has  —  rockers  at  tiie  side. 


304  YOUNG  folks'  eeadings. 


THE   SAILOR'S   CONSOLATION. 

ONE  nig'lit  came  on  a  hurricane, 
The  sea  was  mountains  rolling-, 
When  Barney  Buntlinc  slued  his  quid, 

And  said  to  Billy  Bowline, 
"  A  strong  nor'-wester  's  blowing,  Bill ; 

Hark  !  don't  ye  hear  it  roar  now  ? 
Lord  lielp  'em,  how  I  pities  them 
Unhappy  folks  on  shore  now  I 

"  Foolhardy  chaps  as  live  in  towns, 

AVhat  danger  they  are  all  in. 
And  now  lie  quaking  in  their  beds 

For  fear  the  roof  should  fall  in  ; 
Poor  creaturs  !  how  they  envies  us, 

And  wishes  —  I've  a  notion  — 
For  our  good  luck  in  such  a  storm. 

To  be  upon  the  ocean  ! 

"  And  as  for  them  that's  out  all  day 
On  business  from  their  houses. 
And  late  at  night  returning  homo, 
To  cheer  their  babes  and  spouses  ; 
■  While  you  and  I,  Bill,  on  the  deck 
Are  comfortably  lying. 
My  eyes  !  what  tiles  and  chimney-pots 
About  their  heads  are  flying  I 

"  Both  you  and  I  have  ofttimes  heard 

How  men  are  killed  and  undone. 
By  overturns  from  carriages, 

By  thieves,  and  fires  in  London. 
We  know  what  risks  those  landsmen  run, 

From  noblemen  to  tailors  : 
Then,  Bill,  let  us  thank  Providence 

Tiiat  you  and  I  are  sailors." 

•  WiM-iAM  Pitt. 


THE   LANGUAGE   OF   SIGNS.  305 


THE  LANGUAGE   OF   SIGNS,   OR  TWO   SIDES 

TO   A   STORY. 

KING  James  the  Sixth,  on  removing  to  London,  was 
waited  upon  by  the  Spanish  ambassador,  a  man  of 
learning,  but  who  had  an  odd  notion  in  his  head  that 
every  country  sliould .  have  a  professor  of  signs,  to 
enable  men  of  all  languages  to  communicate  with 
each  other  without  the  aid  of  speech. 

One  day  he  lamented  before  the  king  that  such 
people  were  not  to  be  met  with  in  all  Europe.  King 
James  t  en  said,  "  Why,  I  liave  a  professor  of  signs  in 
the  most  remote  college  in  my  dominions  ;  it  is  at 
Aberdeen,  a  great  way  off — perhaps  six  hundred 
miles  from  here." 

"  Were  it  ten  thousand  leagues  off,  I  shall  see  him," 
said  the  ambassador,  and  expressed  his  determination 
to  set  out  instanter,  in  order  to  have  an  interview  with 
the  Scottish  professor  of  signs. 

The  king,  perceiving  he  had  committed  himself, 
caused  an  intimation  to  be  written  to  the  University 
of  Aberdeen,  stating  the  case,  and  desiring  the  profes- 
sors to  put  him  off,  or  make  the  best  of  him  they 
could. 

The  ambassador  arrived,  and  was  received  with 
great  solemnity.  He  immediately  inquired  which  of 
them  had  the  honor  to  be  "  Professor  of  Signs  ;  "  but 
was  told  that  the  professor  was  absent  in  the  High- 
lands, and  would  return  nobody  could  say  when. 

"  I  will,"  said  he,  "  wait  his  return,  tliougli  it  were 
not  for  twelve  months." 
20 


306  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

The  professors,  seeing  this  would  not  do,  contrived ' 
the  lollowing  stratagem.  Tlicre  was  one  Geordie,  a 
butcher,  blind  of  an  eye,  a  droll  fellow,  with  much  wit 
and  roguery  about  him.  The  butcher  was  told  ^he 
story,  and  instructed  how  to  comport  himself  in  his 
new  situation  of  "  Professor  of  Signs."  And  he  was 
enjoined  on  no  account  to  utter  a  syllable.  Geordie 
willingly  undertook  the  office  for  a  small  bribe.  The 
ambassador  was  then  told  to  his  infinite  delight  that 
the  professor  of  signs  was  expected  to  arrive  the  next 
day. 

The  next  day  came.  Geordie,  gowned  and  wigged, 
was  placed  in  state  in  a  room  of  the  college.  The 
Spaniard  Avas  then  shown  in,  and  left  to  converse 
with  him  as  best  he  could,  all  of  the  professors  waiting 
the  issue  with  considerable  anxiety. 

An  amusing  scene  commenced.  The  ambassador 
held  up  one  of  his  fingers  to  Geordie ;  Geordie  an- 
swered by  holding  up  two  of  his.  The  ambassador 
held  up  three ;  Geordie  clinched  his  fist  and  looked 
stern.  The  ambassador  then  took  an  orange  from  his 
pocket,  and  showed  it  to  Geordie,  who,  in  return, 
pulled  out  a  piece  of  barley-broad  from  his  pocket, 
and  exhibited  it  in  a  similar  manner.  The  ambassa- 
dor then  bowed  to  him  and  retired. 

When  the  ambassador  entered  the  room  in  which 
the  professors  were,  they  gathered  about  him  and 
inquired  his  opinion  ol"  their  learned  brother. 

'*  He  is  a  perfect  miracle  ! "  said  the  ambassador. 
"  I  would  not  give  him  for  the  wealth  of  the  Indies." 

''  Well  !  "  exchiimed  one  of  the  professors,  "■  how  has 
he  edified  you  ?  " 

"  Why,"    said    the    ambassador,    ''  I  first   hold    up 


THE  LANGUAGE   OF   SIGNS.  307 

one  finger,  denoting  tlmt  tlierc  is  one  God ;  he 
held  up  two,  signifying  that  there  are  Fatlier  and 
Son ;  I  held  up  three,  meaning  the  Father,  Son,  and 
Holy  Ghost;  he  clinched  his  hand  to  say  that  these 
three  are  one.  I  then  took  out  an  orange,  signifying 
the  goodness  of  God,  who  gives  his  creatures  not  only 
the  necessaries,  but  the  luxuries  of  life,  upon  which 
the  wonderful  man  presented  a  piece  of  bread,  show- 
ing that  it  was  the  staff  of  life,  and  preferable  to  every 
luxury." 

The  professors  were  glad  that  matters  had  turned 
out  so  well;  and  having  got  quit  of  the  ambassador, 
who  set  out  again  for  London  that  niglit,  they  called 
in  Geordie  to  hear  his  version. 

"  Well,  Geordie,  how  have  you  come  on,  and  what 
do  you  think  of  the  man  ?  " 

"The  scoundrel!"  exclaimed  the  butcher,  "what 
did  he  do  first,  think  ye?  He  held  up  one  finger,  as 
much  as  to  say  you  have  only  one  eye  !  Then  I  held 
up  two,  meaning  that  my  one  was  as  good  as  his  two. 
Then  the  fellow  held  up  three  of  his  fingers,  to  say 
there  were  but  three  eyes  between  us ;  and  then  I 
was  so  mad  at  him  that  I  shut  my  fist  and  was  going 
to  strike  him,  and  would  have  done  it  too,  but  for  your 
sakes.  He  didn't  stop  there,  but,  forsooth,  he  took  out 
an  orange,  as  much  as  to  say,  your  poor  beggarly  coun- 
try can't  grow  that !  I  showed  him  a  piece  of  a  barley 
bannock,  meaning  that  I  didn't  care  a  fiirthing  for  him 
or  his  trash  either,  so  long  as  I  had  that.  But  by  all 
that's  good,"  continued  Geordie,  "  I'm  angry  yet  that 
I  didn't  break  every  bone  in  his  body." 

Could  two  sides  of  a  story  be  more  opposed  to  one 
another  ? 


308  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE    RAVEN. 

ONCE  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak 
and  weary, 
Over  many  a  quaint  and  curious  volume  of  forgotten  lore  ; 
While  I  nodded,  nearly  napping,   suddenly  there  came  a 

tapping. 
As  of  some  one  gently  rapping,  rapping  at  my  chamber 

door. 
"  'Tis  some  visitor,"  I  muttered,  "  tapping  at  my  cham- 
ber door  — 

Only  this,  and  nothing  more." 

Ah,  distinctly  I  remember,  it  was  in  the  bleak  December, 
And  each  separate  dying  ember  wrought  its  ghost  upon 

the  floor. 
Eagerly  I  wished  the  morrow :  vainly  I   had  sought  to 

borrow 
From  my  books  surcease  of  sorrow  —  sorrow  for  the  lost 

Lenore  — 
For  the  rare  and  radiant  maiden  whom  the   angels  name 

Lenore  — 

Nameless  here  for  evermore. 

And  the   silken,   sad,  uncertain  rustling  of  each  purple 
curtain, 

Thrilled  me  —  filled  me  with  fantastic  terrors  never  felt 
before  ; 

So  that  now,  to  still  the  beating  of  my  heart,  I  stood  re- 
peating, 

"  'Tie  some  visitor  entreating   entrance  at  my  chamber 
door  — 

Some  late   visitor   entreating   entrance   at  my   chamber 
door ; 

This  it  is,  and  nothing  more." 


THE   RAVEN.  309 

Presently  my  soul   grew   stronger  ;  hesitating  then  no 
longer, 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  or  INIadam,  truly  your  forgiveness  I  im- 
plore ; 

But  the  fact  is,  I  was  napping,  and  so  gently  you  came 
rapping. 

And  so  faintly  you  came  tapping,  tapping  at  my  chamber 
door. 

That  I  scai'ce  was  sure  I  heard  you  "  — Here  I  opened 
wide  the  door : 

Darkness  there,  and  nothing  more. 

Deep  into  that  darkness  peering,  long  I  stood  there,  won- 
dering, fearing, 

Doubting,  dreaming  dreams  no  mortal  ever  dared  to  dream 
before  ; 

But  the  silence  was  unbroken,  and  the  darkness  gave  no 
token. 

And  the  only  word  there  spoken  was  the  whispered  word 
"  Lenore  !  " 

This  /whispered,  and  an  echo  murmured  back  the  word 
"  Lenore  !  " 

Merely  this,  and  nothing  more. 

Back   into  the  chamber  turning,  all   my  soul  within   me 
burning. 

Soon   again   I   heard  a  tapping,  something  louder  than 
before. 

"  Surely,"  said  I,   "  surely  that  is  something  at  my  win- 
dow-lattice ; 

Let  me  see  then  what  thereat  is,  and   this  mystery  ex- 
plore — 

Let  my  heart  be  still  a  moment,   and  this   mystery   ex- 
plore ;  — 

'Tis  the  wind,  and  nothing  more." 

Open  then  I  flung  the  shutter,  when,  with  many  a  flirt  and 

flutter. 
In  there  stepped  a  stately  raven  of  the  saintly  days  of 

yore. 


310  YOUNG   folks'   readings. 

Not  the  least  obeisance  made  he  ;  not  an  instant  stopped 
or  stayed  he  ; 

But,  witli  mien  of  lord  or  lady,  perched  above  my  cham- 
ber door  — 

Perched  upon  a  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber 
door  — 

Perched,  and  sat,  and  nothing  more. 

Then  this  ebony  bird  beguiling-  my  sad  fancy  into  smiling, 
By  the  grave  and  stern   decorum  of  the  countenance  it 

wore,  — 
"  Though  thy  crest  be  shorn  and  shaven,  thou,"  I  said, 

"  art  sure  no  craven  ; 
Ghastly,   grim,  and   ancient  raven,  wandering  from   the 

nightly  shore, 
Tell  me  what  thy  lordly  name  is  on  the  Night's  Plutonian 

shore  ? " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

Much  I  marvelled  this  ungainly  fowl  to  hear  discourse  so 

plainly. 
Though  its  answer,  little  meaning —  little  relevancy  bore  ; 
For  we  cannot  help  agreeing  that  no  living  human  being 
Ever  yet  was  blessed  with  seeing  bird  above  his  chamber 

door  — 
Bird  or  beast  upon  the  sculptured  bust  above  his  chamber 

door  — 

With  such  name  as  "  Nevermore." 

But  the  raven  sitting  lonely  on  the  placid  bust,  spoke  only 
That  one  word,  as   if  his   soul   in  that  one  word   he   did 

outpour. 
Nothing  further  then  he  uttei'ed  —  not  a  feather  then  he 

fluttered  — 
Till  I  scarcely  more  than  muttered,  "  Other  friends   have 

flown  before  — 
On  the  morrow  /tc  will  leave  me,  as  my  hopes  have  flown 

before." 

Then  the  bird  said,  "  Nevermore  !  " 


THE    RAVEN.  311 

Stiirtlod  at  tlio  stillness,  broken  by  reply  so  aptly  spoken, 
"Doubtless,"   said  I,  "what   it  utters  is  its   only  stock 

and  store, 
Caught  from   some   unhappy  master,    whom    unmerciful 

disaster 
Followed  fast  and  followed  faster,  till  his  song  one  burden 

bore  — 
Till  the  dirges  of  his  hope  that  melancholy  burden  bore, 
Of  '  Never  —  nevermore  ! '  " 

But  the  raven  still  beguiling  all  my  sad  soul  into  smiling, 
Straight  I  wheeled  a  cushioned  seat  in  front  of  bird,  and 

bust,  and  door. 
Then,  upon  the  velvet  sinking,  I  betook  myself  to  linking 
Fancy  unto   fancy,   thinking  what   this  ominous   bird  of 

yore  — 
What  this  grim,  ungainly,  ghastly,  gaunt,   and  ominous 

bird  of  yore 

Meant  in  croaking  "  Nevermore  !  ■' 

Thus  I  sat  engaged  in  guessing,  but  no  syllable  expressing 

To    the    fowl,  whose    fiery    eyes    now   burned   into    my 
bosom's  core ; 

This  and  more  I  sat  divining,  with  my  lioad  at  ease  re- 
clining 

On  the  cushion's  velvet  lining  that  the  lamp-liglit  gloated 
o'er, 

But  whose  velvet  violet  lining,  with  the  lamp-light  gloat- 
ing o'er. 

She  shall  press  —  ah  !  nevermore  ! 

Then  methought  the  air  grew  denser,  perfumed  from  an 

unseen  censer 
Swung  by  seraphim,  whose  foot-falls  tinkled  on  the  tufted 

floor. 
"  Wretch  !  "  I  cried,  "  thy  God  hath  lent  thee  —by  these 

angels  he  hath  sent  thee 
Respite  —  respite   and  nepenthe   from  thy   memories  of 

Lenore  ! 


312  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Quaff,  0  quaff  this  kiud  ncpcutho,  and  forget  this  lost 
Lenoro  !" 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

"Prophet!"  said  I,  "thing  of  evil! — prophet  still,  if 
bird  or  devil ! 

Whether  tempter  sent,  or  whether  tempest  tossed  thee 
here  ashore, 

Desolate,  yet  all  undaunted,  on  this  desert  land  enchant- 
ed— 

On  this  home  by  Horror  haunted  —  tell  me  truly,  I  im- 
plore — 

Is  there  —  is  there  balm  in  Gilead  ?  —  tell  mc  —  tell  me, 
I  implore  !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

"  Prophet !  "  said  I,  "  thing  of  evil !  —  prophet  still,  if 

bird  or  devil  ! 
By  that  heaven  that  bends  above  us  —  by  that  God  we 

both  adore. 
Tell  this   soul  with  sorrow  laden,  if,  within   the   distant 

Aidcnn, 
It  shall  clasp  a  sainted  maiden,  whom   the  angels  name 

Lenore ; 
Clasp  a  fair  and  radiant  maiden,  whom  the  angels  name 

Lenore I  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 

"  Be  that  word  our  sign   of  parting,  bird   or   fiend  !  "  I 
shrieked,  upstarting  — 

"  Get  thee  back  into  the  tempest  and  the  Night's  Plu- 
tonian shore ! 

Leave  no  black  plunje  as  a  token  of  that  lie  thy  soul  hath 
spoken  ! 

Leave  my  loneliness  unbroken  !  —  quit  the  bust  above  my 
door ! 

Take  thy  beak  from  out  my  heart,  and  take  thy  form  from 
off  my  door  !  " 

Quoth  the  raven,  "  Nevermore  !  " 


HELEN'S   BABIES.  v  313 

And  the  raven,  never  flitting,  still  is  sitting,  still  is  sitting' 
On  the  pallid  bust  of  Pallas,  just  above  my  chamber  door ; 
And  his  eyes  have  all   the  seeming  of  a  demon  that  is 

dreaming, 
And  the  lamp-light  o'er  him  streaming  throws  his  shadow 

on  the  floor; 
And  my  soul  from  out  that  shadow  that  lies  floating  on 

the  floor 

Shall  be  lifted  —  nevermore  !  edgar  \  poe. 


AN  EVEXIXG  WITH   HELEN'S   BABIES. 

IT 7ITH  a  head  full  of  pleasing  fancies,  1  went  down 
VV  to  supper.  My  new  friends,  Helen's  babies,  were 
unusually  good.  There  were  two  of  them.  Budge, 
the  elder,  was  five  years  of  age,  and  Toddie  bad  seen 
but  three  summers.  Their  ride  seemed  to  have  toned 
down  their  boisterousness  and  elevated  their  little 
souls  ;  their  appetites  exhibited  no  diminution  of  force  ; 
but  they  talked  but  little,  and  all  that  they  said  was 
smart,  funny,  or  startling — so  much  so  that  when, 
after  supper,  they  invited  me  to  put  them  to  bed,  I 
gladly  accepted  the  invitation.  Toddie  disappeared 
somewhere,  and  came  back  very  disconsolate. 

"  Can't  find  my  dolly's  k'adle,"  he  whined. 

"-Never  mind,  old  pet,"  said  I,  soothingly.  "  Undo 
will  ride  you  on  his  foot." 

"  But  I  want  my  dolly's  k'adle,"  said  he,  piteously 
rolling  out  his  lower  lip. 

I  remembered  my  experience  when  Toddie  wanted 
to  "  shee  wheels  go  wound,"  and  I  trembleil. 

"  Toddie,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  so  persuasive  that  it 
would  be  worth  thousands  a  year  to  me,  as  a  sales- 
man, if  I  could  only  command  it  at  will;  "Toddie, 
don't  you  want  to  ride  on  uncle's  back'f" 


314  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  No  ;  want  my  dolly's  k'adle." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  tell  you  a  story  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Toddie's  face  indicated  a  terrible  in- 
ternal conflict  between  old  Adam  and  mother  Eve,  but 
curiosity  finally  overpowered  natural  depravity,  and 
Toddie  murmured, — 

"  Yesh." 

"  What  shall  I  tell  you  about  ?  " 

•'  'Bout  Nawndeark." 

"  About  what  ?  " 

"  lie  means  Noah  an'  the  ark,"  exclaimed  Budge. 

"  Datsli  what  /  shay — Nawndeark,"  declared  Toddie. 

"Well,"  said  1,  hastily  refreshii)g  my  memory  by 
picking  up  the  Bible, — for  Helen,  like  most  people,  is 
pretty  sure  to  forget  to  pack  her  Bible  when  she  runs 
away  from  home  for  a  few  days, — "well,  once  it 
rained  forty  days  and  nights,  and  everybody  was 
drowned  from  the  face  of  the  earth  excej)ting  Noah, 
a  righteous  man,  Avho  was  saved  with  all  his  family,  in 
an  ark  which  the  Lord  commanded  him  t(;  build." 

"  Uncle  Ilarry,"  said  Budge,  after  contemplating  mo 
with  open  eyes  and  mouth  for  at  least  tw.o  minutes 
after  I  had  finished,  "  do  you  think  that's  Noah  ?" 

"Certainly,  Budge;  here's  the  whole  story  in  the 
Bible." 

"  Well,  /don't  think  it's  Noah  one  single  bit,"  said 
he,  with  increasing  emphasis. 

"  I'm  beginning  to  think  we  read  diiferent  Bibles, 
Budge  ;  but  let's  hear  your  version." 

"Huh?" 

"  Tell  me  about  Noah,  if  you  know  so  much  about 
him." 

"  I  will,  if  you  want  me  to.     Once  the  Lord  felt  so 


AN   EVENING   WITH    HELEN'S   BABIES.         .        315 

uncomfortable  cos  folks  was  bad  that  he  was  sorry  ho 
ever  made  anybody,  or  any  world,  or  anything.  But 
Noah  wasn't  bad  ;  the  Lord  liked  hira  first-rate  ;  so  he 
told  Noah  to  build  a  big  ark,  and  then  the  Lord  would 
make  it  rain  so  everybody  should  be  drownded  but 
Noah  an'  his  little  boys  an'  girls,  an'  doggies  an'  pus- 
sies, an'  mamma-cows,  an'  little-boy-cows  an'  little-girl- 
cows,  an'  bosses,  an'  everything ;  they'd  go  in  the 
ark,  an'  wouldn't  get  wetted  a  bit  when  it  rained. 
An'  Noah  took  lots  of  things  to  eat  in  the  ark  ;  cook- 
ies, an'  milk,  an'  oatmeal,  an'  strawberries,  an'  porgies, 
an'  —  O,  yes — an'  plum-puddins,  an'  pumpkin-pies. 
But  Noah  didn't  want  everybody  to  get  drownded,  so 
he  talked  to  folks,  an'  said, 'It's  goiu'  to  rain  awful 
pretty  soon ;  you'd  better  be  good,  an'  then  the  Lord'll 
let  you  come  into  my  ark.'  An'  they  jus'  said,  *  0,  if 
it  rains  we'll  go  in  the  house  till  it  stops ; '  an'  other 
folks  said,  '  We  ain't  afraid  of  rain  ;  we've  got  an  um- 
brella.' An'  some  more  said,  they  wasn't  goin'  to  be 
afraid  of  just  a  rain.  But  it  did  rain  though,  an'  folks 
went  in  their  houses,  an'  the  water  came  in,  an'  they 
went  upstairs,  an'  the  water  came  up  there,  an'  they 
got  on  the  tops  of  the  houses,  an'  up  in  big  trees,  an' 
up  in  mountains,  an'  the  water  went  after  'eoi  every- 
where an'  drownded  everybi^dy,  only  just  except 
Noah  and  the  people  in  the  ark.  An'  it  rained  forty 
days  an'  nights,  an'  then  it  stopped  ;  an'  Noah  got  out 
of  tiie  ark,  an'  he  and  his  little  boys  an'  girls  went 
wlierever  they  wanted  to,  and  everything  in  the 
world  was  all  theirs  ;  there  wasn't  anybody  to  tell  'em 
to  go  home,  nor  no  Kindergarten  schools  to  go  to, 
nor  no  bad  boys  to  fight  'em,  nor  nothin'.  Now  tell 
us  'nother  story."  j.  habbebtos. 


316  YOUTNTr   folks'   READINGS. 


'HAS   NOT   SINCE   BEEN  HEARD   OF. 

BLOW,  blustering'  wind  !  thy  loud  alarms, 
They  liave  no  terrors  for  me  ; 
Thy  gales  will  waft  to  my  longing  arms 

My  darling  over  the  sea. 
Bluster  thy  might,  thou  lusty  wight, 
I've  never  a  thought  for  thee  ! 


"O 


When  first  we  parted,  my  darling  and  I, 

The  gentlest  breeze  I  cursed. 
And  gazed  in  fear  on  a  stormy  sky 

As  I  witnessed  the  tempest  burst, 
And  the  breakers  roar  on  the  dread  lee  shore, 

Of  a  bark  by  the  billows  tossed. 

But  now  I  welcome  the  wind  that  brings 

Mv  love  ever  nearer  home  ; 
Though  sea-birds  strive,  with  quivering  wingS, 

To  battle  the  rising  foam. 
But  blow,  0  gale  !  and  fill  the  sail  ; 

No  more  sliall  my  darling  roam  ! 

The  sea  is  speaking  !     The  distant  main 
Is  scanned  by  an  anxious  crowd ; 

And  with  a  terrible  shuddering  pain 
Many  a  head  is  bowed  ! 

But  what  care  I  —  my  darling  nigh  — 
For  fisher-folks'  weary  load  ? 

The  sea  is  silent  !     A  strange,  sad  tale 

Is  writ  on  the  pebbly  strand  ! 
Why  do  the  storm-worn  faces  pale, 

While  some  of  the  fisher  band 
In  sympathy  pr»ii)t  silently  — 

Tfteres  drifl  on  the  "  Shicering  Sand  I " 


DISCONTENTED    BUTTERCUP.  317 

Speak  out,  man,  speak  !  what  dost  thou  say, 
"  Gone  down  1  —  all  hands  !  "  —  all  gone  ? 

Not  one  permitted  to  sec  the  day, 
Never  a  glimpse  of  the  sun  ! 

The  ship  ! — her  name  ?     No,  not  the  same, 
It  cannot  have  been  that  one  ! 

0  sea  !  what  terrible  deed  is  thine  I 

My  love  hast  thou  cast  away  ? 
Lies  he  deep  in  3^on  treacherous  brine, 

A  toy  lor  thy  monstrous  play  ? 
No  tidings  yet  ?     From  rise  till  set, 

Wearily  drags  the  day  ! 


THE  DISCONTENTED   BUTTERCUP. 

DOWN  in  a  field,  one  day  in  June, 
The  flowers  all  bloomed  together. 
Save  one,  who  tried  to  hide  herself. 
And  drooped,  that  pleasant  weather. 

A  robin  wlio  had  soared  too  high, 

And  felt  a  little  lazy. 
Was  resting  near  a  "buttercup 

Who  wished  she  were  a  daisy. 

For  daisies  grow  so  trig  and  tall ; 

She  always  had  a  passion 
For  wearing  frills  about  her  neck 

In  just  the  daisies'  lashion. 

And  buttercups  must  alwa^'s  be 
The  same  old  tiresome  color, 
•While  daisies  dress  in  gold  and  white, 
Although  their  gold  is  duller. 

"  Dear  robin,"  said  this  sad  young  flower, 
"  Perhaps  you'd  not  mind  trying 
To  find  a  nice  white  frill  i"or  mo. 
Some  day,  when  you  are  living  ?  " 


318  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  You  silly  thing  !  "  the  robin  said  ; 
"  I  think  you  must  be  crazy  ! 
I'd  rather  be  my  honest  self 
Than  any  made-up  daisy, 

"  You're  nicer  in  your  own  bright  gown  ; 
The  little  children  love  you  ; 
Be  the  best  buttercup  you  can, 
And  think  no  flower  above  you. 

"  Though  swallows  leave  me  out  of  sight, 
We'd  better  keep  our  places  ; 
Perhaps  the  world  would  all  go  wrong 
With  one  too  many  daisies. 

"  Look  bravely  up  into  the  sky, 
And  be  content  with  knowing 
That  God  wished  for  a  buttercup, 
Just  here  where  you  are  growing." 

Sarah  O.  Jewett. 


A  WEDDIXG-MARCH  ON  TRIAL. 

DAY  with  dewy  eve  was  blending, 
Clouds  lay  piled  in  radiant  state. 
When  a  fine  young  German  farmer 
Rode  up  to  the  parson's  gate. 

Clinging  to  him  on  a  pillion 
Was  a  maiden  fair  and  tall. 

Blushing,  trembling,  palpitating. 
Smiling  bi'igiitly  through  it  all. 

Said  the  farmer,  "  Goot  ITerr  Pastor, 
JNIargueritc  and  I  vas  coome  • 

Diesen  evening  to  be  married, 

Dhen  mit  her  1  make  mine  home." 

Soon  the  nuptial  tie  was  fastened. 
Soon  the  kiss  received  and  given. 


A   WEDDING-MARCH   ON   TRIAL.  319 

In  that  moment  eai'th  had  vanished  ; 
They  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  heaven. 

But  the  prudent  German  farmer 
First  recalled  his  trancdd  wits  — 

Said,  "  Ilerr  Pastor,  here's  von  shilling, 
Clioost  at  present  ve  vas  quits. 

"  But  dake  notice,  if  I  finds  her 

Marguerite,  mine  fraw,  mine  queen, 
Ven  der  year  vas  gone,  is  potter 
As  goot,  v}''  dhen  1  coomes  again." 

Twelve  months  sped  with  wildering  fleetness 
Down  Time's  pathway  past  recall, 

Then  there  came  a  barrel  rolling 

Thundering  through  the  parson's  hall ; 

With  this  note  :   "  1  send,  Ilerr  Pastor, 

Mit  ein  parrel  of  pesten  Hour 
Dhem  five  dollars,*  for  mine  Marguerite 

More  petter  as  goot  is  every  hour. 

"  Dot  schmall  lectle  paby  is  ein  darling ; 
If  dliey  shtay  so  goot,  vy  dlien, 
Vhen  dot  year  vas  gone,  Ilerr  Pastor, 
Quick,  booty  soon,  you  hear  again." 

On  the  wedding-march  went  singing 

Sweeter,  tenderer  than  before  ; 
At  the  year's  end  it  came  drumming 

Gayly  at  the  parson's  door ; 

With  this  note :   "  Here  is  five  dollars 

Und  ein  parrel  of  pesten  ilour; 
Marguerite  und  dot  dear  paby 

More  petter  as  goot  is  —  more  and  more 

"  Now  dot  funny  leetlo  paby 

Sucks  de  ink  vots  in  mine  pen, 
Makes  me  laugh  —  I  dink,  Ilerr  Pastor, 
Next  year  1  vill  come  again," 


320     -  YOUNG  polks'  eeadings. 

Down  the  years  the  pair  went  marching 
Hand  in  hand  from  dawn  to  dawn, 

Bearing  each  the  other's  crosses, 
Wearing  each  the  other's  crown. 

And  from  year  to  year  came  rolling 
Straight  into  the  parson's  door, 

That  "ein  parrel  of  pcsten  flour," 
Always  with  five  dollars  more. 

They  have  passed  their  golden  wedding. 
Children's  children  in  their  train; 

Sweeter  grows  the  wedding  music, 
Gentler,  tenderer  the  strain. 

Fainter  now,  and  like  an  echo 
From  the  bright,  the  better  land, 

Kestfully  they  wait  and  listen 

Full  of  peace,  for  heaven  's  at  hand  ! 

Moral  :    0  ye  men  and  brethren 
Who  to  marry  have  a  mind. 

Pay  the  parson  as  with  trial 
Bliss  or  misery  you  find. 


GRANDMOTHER  GRAY. 

FADED  and  fair,  in  her  old'  arm-chair. 
Sunset  gilding  her  thin,  white  hair, 
Silently  knitting,  sits  Grandmother  Gray ; 
.While  I  on  my  elbows  beside  her  lean, 
And  tell  what  wonderful  things  I  mean 
To  have,  and  to  do,  if  I  can,  some  day. 
You  can  talk  so  to  Grandmother  Gray ; 
She  doesn't  laugh,  nor  send  you  away. 

I  see,  as  I  look  fnjm  the  window-seat, 
A  house  there  yonder  across  the  street, 


GRANDMOTHER   GRAY.  321 

With  a  fine  French  roof  and  a  frescoed  hall ; 
The  deep  bay-windows  are  full  of  flowers  ; 
They've  a  clock  of  bronze  that  chimes  the  hours, 
And  a  fountain — 1  hear  it  tinkle  and  fall 
When  the  doors  are  open.      "  1  mean,"  I  say, 
"  To  live  in  a  house  like  that,  some  day." 
"  Money  will  buy  it,''  says  Grandmother  Gray. 

"  There's  a  low  barouche,  all  green  and  gold. 

And  a  pair  of  horses  as  black  as  jet, 
I've  seen  drive  by —  and  before  I'm  old 

A  turnout  like  that  I  hope  to  get. 
How  they  prance  and  shine  in  their  harness  gay! 
What  fun  'twould  be  if  they  ran  away  ! " 
"Money  will  buy  them,"  says  Grandmother  Gray. 

"  To-morrow,  I  know,  a  great  ship  sails 

Out  of  port,  and  across  the  sea ; 
0,  to  feel  in  mij  face  the  ocean  gales, 

And  the  salt  waves  dancing  under  me  ! 
In  the  old,  far  lands  of  legend  and  lay 
I  long  to  roam  —  and  I  shall,  some  day." 
"  Money  will  do  it,"  says  Grandmother  Gray. 

"  And  when,  like  me,  you  are  old,"  says  she, 
"  And  getting  and  going  are  done  with,  dear. 

What  then,  do  you  think,  will  the  one  thing  be 
You  will  wish  and  need,  to  content  you  here  ?  " 

"  0,  when  in  my  chair  I  have  to  stay. 

Love,  you  see,  will  content  me,"  I  say. 

"That,  money  wonH  buy,"  says  Grandmother  Gray. 

"  And,  sure  enough,  if  there's  nothing  worth 
All  your  care,  when  the  years  are  past, 

But  love  in  heaven,  and  love  on  earth. 
Why  not  begin  where  you'll  end  at  last? 

Begin  to  lay  up  treasure  to-day, 

Treasure  that  nothing  can  take  away. 

Bless  the  Lord  !  "  says  Grandmother  Gray. 

MAJSV  KtULbY   liOUItLLE,   IS   "  WIDE  .\WAKS." 

21 


322        YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


THE   SAILOR-BOY'S   DREAM. 

IN  slumbers  of  midiiiglit  the  sailor-boy  lay; 
His  hammock  swung-  loose  at  the  sport  of  the  wind  ; 
But,  watch-worn  and  weary,  his  cares  flew  away, 
And  visions  of  happiness  danced  o'er  his  mind. 

lie  dreamed  of  his  home,  of  his  dear  native  bowers, 
And  iileusures  that  waited  on  life's  merry  morn  ; 

While  Memory  each  scene  gaily  covered  with  flowers. 
And  restored  every  rose,  but  secreted  its  thorn. 

Then  Fancy  her  magical  pinions  spread  wide, 
And  bade  the  young  dreamer  in  ecstasy  rise  : 

Now  far,  far  behind  liim  the  green  waters  glide, 
And  the  cot  of  his  forefathers  blesses  his  eyes. 

The  jessamine  clambers  in  flowers  o'er  the  thatch, 

And  the  swallow  chirps  sweet  from  her  nest  in  the  wall ; 

All  trembling  with  transport,  he  raises  the  latch, 
And  the  voices  of  loved  ones  reply  to  his  call. 

A  father  bends  o'er  him  with  looks  of  delight; 

His  cheek  is  impearled  with  a  mother's  warm  tear; 
And  the  lips  of  the  boy  in  a  love-kiss  unite 

^Vith  the  lips  of  the  sister  his  bosom  holds  dear. 

The  heart  of  the  sleeper  beats  high  in  his  breast ; 

Joy  quickens  his  pulse  ;   all  his  hardships  seem  o'er ; 
And  a  murmur  of  happiness  steals  through  his  z*est : 

"  0  God,  thou  hast  blessed  rae  ;  I  ask  for  no  more." 

Ah  !  whence  is  that  flame  which  now  glares  on  his  eye  ? 

Ah  I   what  is  that  sound  which  now  bursts  on  his  ear  ? 
'Tis  the  light/ling's  red  glare,  painting  hell  on  the  sky  ! 

'Tis  the  crashing  of  tiiunders,  tlie  groan  of  the  sphere  1 


THE   sailor-boy's   DREAM.  323 

He  spriuj^s  from  his  hammock,  he  flies  to  the  deck  ; 

Amazement  confronts  him  with  images  dire  ; 
Willi  winds  and  mad  waves  drive  the  vessel  a  wreck ; 

The  masts  fly  in  splinters,  the  shrouds  are  on  fire. 

Like  mountains  the  billows  tremendously  swell ; 

In  vain  the  lost  wretch  calls  on  mercy  to  save  ; 
Unseen  hands  of  spirits  are  ringing  his  knell, 

And  the  death-angel  flaps  his  broad  wing  o'er  the  wave. 

0  sailor-boy,  woo  to  thy  dream  of  delight ! 

In  darkness  dissolves  the  gay  frost-work  of  bliss  ; 
Where  now  is  the  picture  that  Fancy  touched  bright, 

Tiiy  parents'  fond  pressure,  and  love's  honeyed  kiss  ? 

0  sailor-boy,  sailor-boy,  never  again 

Shall  home,  love,  or  kindred  thy  wishes  repay ; 

Unblessed  and  unhonored,  down  deep  in  the  main, 
Full  many  a  fathom  thy  frame  shall  decay. 

No  tomb  shall  e'er  plead  to  remembrance  for  thee, 
Or  redeem  thy  lost  form  from  the  merciless  surge  ; 

But  the  white  foam  of  waves  shall  thy  winding-sheet  be, 
And  winds,  in  the  midnight  of  winter,  thy  dirge. 

On  a  bed  of  green  sea-flowers  thy  limbs  shall  be  laid  ; 

Around  thy  white  bones  the  red  coral  shall  grow  ; 
Of  thy  fair,  yellow  locks  threads  of  amber  be  made, 

And  every  part  suit  to  thy  mansion  below. 

Days,  months,  years,  and  ages  shall  circle  away, 
And  still  the  vast  waters  above  thee  shall  roll ; 

Earth  loses  thy  pattern  for  ever  and  aye  : 
0  sailor-boy,  sailor-boy,  peace  to  thy  soul  I 


DiMOND 


324  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 


NANCY   BLYNN'S   LOVERS. 

IT^LLIAM  TANSLEY,  familiarly  called  Tip,  liav- 
T  V  ing  finished  his  afternoon's  work  in  Judge  Box- 
ton's  garden,  milked  the  cows,  and  given  the  calves  and 
pigs  their  supper,  —  not  forgetting  to  make  sure  of  his 
own,  —  stole  out  of  the  house  with  his  Sunday  jacket, 
and  the  secret  intention  of  going  a-sparking. 

He  was  creeping  behind  the  garden  wall,  with  one 
hand  steadying  his  hat  and  tlie  other  his  pockets,  — 
stuffed  with  green  corn  designed  for  roasting  and 
eating  with  the  "Widow  Blynn's  pretty  daughter, — 
when  a  voice  called  his  name. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Cephas  Boxton.  Now,  if  there 
Avas  any  one  Tip  hated,  it  was  "  that  Cephe  ;  "  and  this 
for  various  reasons,  the  chief  of  which  was  that  the 
Judge's  son  did,  upon  occasions,  flirt  with  Miss  Nancy 
Blynn,  avIio,  sliaring  the  popular  prejudice  in  favor  of 
fine  clotiies  and  riches,  preferred,  apparently,  a  passing 
glance  from  Ceplias  to  all  Tip's  gifts  and  attentions. 

"Tip  Tansley  !"  again  called  the  hated  voice. 

But  the  proprietor  of  that  euphonious  name,  not 
choosing  to  answer,  remained  quiet,  while  young  Box- 
ton,  to  whom  glimpses  of  the  aforesaid  hat  had  been 
visible,  stepped  noiselessly  to  tlie  wall  and  looked  over. 

"If  it  isn't  Tip,  what  is  it?" 

And  Cephas  struck  one  side  of  the  distended  jacket 
with  his  cane.  An  ear  of  corn  dropped  out.  Ue 
struck  the  other  side,  and  out  dropped  another  ear. 
At  the  same  time,  Tip,  getting  up  and  endeavoring  to 
protect  his  pockets,  let  go  his  hat,  which  fell  off,  spill, 
ing  its  contents  in  the  grass. 


NANCY  BLYNN'S  LOVERS.  325 

"Did  you  call?" 

"  Do  you  preteud  you  didn't  hear,  with  all  those 
ears  ?  " 

"  I  was  hunting  for  a  shoestring!  I  —  I  got  to  go 
over  by  the  back  pastur',  and  I  took  the  corn  along  to 
feed  the  cattle  —  'cause  they  hook." 

"  I  wish  you  were  as  innocent  of  hooking  as  the 
cattle  are.     Go  and  saddle  Pericles." 

Tip  moved  off  toward  the  stable,  his  pockets  drop- 
ping corn  by  the  way,  and  presently  called  out  from 
the  door,  "  Hoss  's  ready  !  " 

But  instead  of  leading  Pericles  out,  he  left  him  in 
the  stall,  and  climbed  up  into  the  hayloft  to  hi-de. 

From  the  fact  that  Pericles  was  ordered,  he  sus- 
pected that  Cephas  likewise  purposed  paying  a  visit  to 
Nancy  Blynn.  He  lay  under  the  dusky  roof,  chewing 
the  bitter  cud  of  envy,  and  now  and  then  a  stem  of 
new-mown  timothy,  till  Cephas  entered  the  stall  be- 
neath. 

"  Are  you  there,  Cephas  ?  "  presently  said  another 
voice  —  that  of  the  Judge  .himself,  \\ho  had  followed 
his  son  into  the  barn.  "  Going  to  ride,  are  you  ?  "  and 
the  Judge  began  to  polish  off  Pericles  with  wisps  of 
straAv.  ''  I  luf  to  rub  a  colt,  it  does  'em  so  much  good. 
Tip  don't  half  curry  him." 

"  Darned  if  I  care  !  "  muttered  Tip. 

"  Cephas,"  —  rub,  rub,  —  "  if  you're  going  by  Squire 
Stedman's,  I'd  like  to  have  you  call  and  git  that  mort- 
gage." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  ride  that  way,  father." 

Rub,  rub.  "  If  you'i-e  going  up  on  the  mountain,  I 
wish  you'd  stop  and  tell  Colby  I'll  take  those  lambs." 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  shall  go  as  far  as  Colby's." 


32G  YOUNG   folks'   keadings. 

"  Folks  say  —  h'ni  !  —  you  don't  often  get  further 
than  Widow  Blynn's  when  you  travel  that  road.  I've 
kind  o'  felt  as  though  I'd  ought  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  you  about  that  matter.  They've  got  up  the  absurd 
story  that  you  are  going  to  marry  Nancy." 

''  I  must  confess,  father,  the  idea  has  occurred  to  me 
that  Nancy  —  would  make  me  —  a  good  wife." 

It  is  impossible  to  say  which  was  most  astonished 
by  this  candid  avowal,  the  Judge,  or  Master  Tip 
Tansley.  Tip  had  never  once  imagined  that  Cephe's 
intentions  regarding  Nancy  were  so  serious,  and  now 
the  awful  conviction  was  forced  upon  him,  that  if  his 
rival  wished  to  marry  her,  there  was  not  the  ghost 
of  a  chance  for  him. 

"  Cephas,  you  stagger  me  !  A  young  man  of  your 
edecation  and  prospects  —  " 

"  Nancy  is  not  without  some  education,  father." 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt;  and  I  hain't  anything  agin 
Nancy.  She's  a  good  girl  enough,  fur  's  I  know.  But 
reflect  on't:  you  might  marry  'most  any  girl  you 
choose." 

"  So  I  thought ;  and  I  choose  Nancy  ;  "  and  Cephe 
started  to  lead  out  Pericles. 

"  I  wisli  the  boss  'u'd  fling  him  and  break  his  blasted 
neck!"  snarled  the  devil  in  Tip's  heart. 

"  Don't  be  hasty  ;  wait  a  minute,  Cephas.  You  know 
what  I  mean  :  you  could  marry  ricli.  Take  a  practical 
view  on't.  Get  rid  of  these  boyish  notions.  Jest 
think  how  it'll  look  for  a  young  man  of  your  cloth  to 
go  and  marry  the  Widow  Blynn's  daughter — a  girl 
that  takes  in  sewing !  " 

"  I  hear  she  does  her  sewing  well." 

"  S'pose  she  does.     She'd  make  a  good  enough  wife 


NANCY  BLYNN'S  LOVERS.  327 

for  some  such  follow  as  Tip,  no  doubt,'' — Tip's  ears 
ting-led,  —  "  but  I  thought  a  son  o'  mine  would  a'  looked 
higher.     Think  of  you  and  Tip  after  the  same  girl  !  " 

"  The  trouble  seems  to  be  simply  tin's,  father  :  you 
don't  wish  me  to  marry  a  poor  girl.  And  1  assure  you 
I'd  much  rather  please  than  displease  you." 

"  That's  the  way  to  talk,  Cephas  !  That  sounds 
like." 

"  Well,  what  will  you  give  to  make  it  an  object  ?  " 

"  Give?  Give  you  all  I've  got,  of  course.  What's 
mine  is  yours,  —  or  will  be,  some  day." 

"  That  isn't  the  thing.  I  want  money  now,  for  a 
particular  purpose.  Give  me  five  thousand  dollars, 
and  it's  a  bargain." 

"  Pooh  !    pooh  1  "  said  the  Judge. 

"  Very  well ;  then  stand  aside,  and  let  me  and  Peri- 
cles pass." 

"  No,  no,  you  shan't !  Let  go  the  bridle.  Pd  ruther 
give  ten  thousand." 

"  Give  me  ten,  then  !  " 

"  I  mean — don't  go  to  being  wild  and  headstrong, 
now !  I'll  give  ye  a  thousand,  if  nothing  else  will 
satisfy  ye." 

"  I'll  divide  the  dilference  with  you.  I'll  say  three 
thousand ;  and  that,  you  must  own,  is  cheap  enough." 

"  It's  a  bargain."     And  Tip  was  thrilled  with  joy. 

"  But  I  wish  to  ask.  Can  I,  for  instance,  marry  Melissa 
More?  Next  to  Nancy,  she's  the  prettiest  girl  in 
town." 

"  But  she  has  no  position.  The  bargain  is,  you  are 
not  to  marry  a?i?/ ^oor  (/iVZ,  and  I  mean  to  have  it  in 
writing.  So  pull  off  the  saddle,  and  come  into  the 
house." 


328  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

Tip  Tansley,  in  a  terrible  state  of  excitement,  waited 
■until  both  had  left  the  barn,  then  slipped  down  the 
stairs,  gathered  up  what  he  could  find  of  the  scattered 
ears  of  corn,  and  set  out  to  run  through  the  orchard 
and  across  the  fields  to  the  Widow  Blynn's  cottage. 

"  Good  evening,  William,"  said  Mrs.  131ynn,  opening 
the  door,  with  her  spectacles  on  her  forehead.  *'  Come 
in  ;  take  a  chair." 

''  Guess  I  can't  stop.  How's  all  the  folks?  Nancy 
to  hum?" 

''  Nancy  's  up-stairs;  I'll  speak  to  her.  Nancy  1  Tip 
is  here !     Better  take  a  chair  while  you  stop." 

"  Wal,  may  as  well ;  jest  as  cheap  settin'  as  standin'. 
Pooty  warm  night,  kind  o'  —  "  Tip  raised  his  arm  to 
wipe  his  face  with  his  sleeve  ;  upon  Avhich  an  ear  of 
that  discontented  tucket  took  occasion  to  tumble  upon 
the  floor.  "  IIullo  !  what's  that  ?  Y>y  gracious  !  if 
tain't  green  corn  !  Got  any  fire  ?  Guess  we'll  have 
a  roast." 

"  Law  me  !  I  thouglit  your  pockets  stuck  out 
amaziir  !  I  hain't  had  the  fust  taste  of  green  corn 
this  year.  It's  real  kind  o'  thoughtful  in  you,  Tip; 
but  the  fire's  all  out,  and  we  can't  roast  it  to-night, 
as  I  see." 

"  Mabby  Nancy  will.  Ain't  she  comin'  down  ? 
Any  time  to-night,  Nancy.  You  do'no'  what  I  brought 
ye  !  " 

Now,  sad  as  the  truth  may  seem,  Nancy  cared  little 
what  he  had  brought,  and  experienced  no  very  ardent 
desire  to  come  down.  She  sat  at  her  window,  looking 
at  the  stars,  and  thinking  of  somebody  who  she  had 
Iioped  would  visit  her  that  night.  But  that  somebody 
was  not  Tip ;  and  although  the  first  sound  of  his  foot- 


NANCY  BLYNN'S  LOVERS.  329 

steps  had  set  lier  heart  fluttering,  his  near  approach, 
breathing  fast  and  loud,  had  given  her  a  chill  of  dis- 
appointment, and  she  now  much  preferred  her  own 
thoughts,  and  the  moonrise  through  the  trees  in  the 
direction  of  Judge  Boxton's  house,  to  all  the  green 
corn,  and  all  the  green  lovers,  in  town. 

Iler  mother,  however,  who  believed  as  much  in 
being  civil  to  neighbors  as  she  did  in  keeping  the 
Sabbath,  called  again,  and  gave  her  no  peace  until  she 
had  left  the  window,  the  moonrise,  and  her  romantic 
dreams,  and  descended  into  the  prosaic  atmosphere  of 
Tip  and  his  corn. 

How  lovely  she  looked  to  Tip's  eyes  !  Her  plain, 
neat  calico  gown,  enfolding  a  wonderful  little  rounded 
embodiment  of  grace  and  beauty,  seemed  to  him  an 
attire  fit  for  any  queen.  But  it  was  the  same  old,  sad 
story  over  again,  —  although  Tip  loved  Nancy,  Nancy 
loved  not  Tip. 

She  discouraged  the  proposition  of  roasting  corn, 
and  otherwise  deeply  grieved  her  visitor  by  intently 
working  and  thinking,  instead  of  being  sociable.  At 
length  a  bright  idea  occurred  to  Tip. 

"  Got  a  slate  and  pencil,  Nancy  ?  " 

The  widow  furnished  the  required  article.  He  then 
found  a  book,  and,  using  the  edge  of  the  cover  as  a 
rule,  marked  out  the  plan  of  a  game. 

''  Fox  'n'  geese,  Nancy.     Ye  play  ?  " 

And,  having  picked  off  a  sufficient  number  of  ker- 
nels from  one  of  the  ears  of  corn,  and  placed  them  on 
the  slate  for  geese,  he  selected  the  largest  he  could 
find  for  a  fox,  stuck  it  upon  a  pin,  and  proceeded  to 
blacken  it  in  the  flame  of  the  candle. 

"  Which  '11  ye  hev,  Nancy  ?     Take  your  choice,  and 


330  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

gim  me  the  geese,  then  beat  me  if  you  can.     Come! 
won't  ye  play  ?  " 

'•  0  dear,  Tip  !  what  a  tease  you  are  !  Get  mother 
to  phiy  with  you." 

"  She  do'  wanter.  Come,  Nancy ;  then  I'll  tell  ye 
suthin'  I  heer'd  jes'  'fore  I  come  away ;  suthin'  'bout 
yeou." 

"  About  me  ?  " 

"  Ye'd    'a'   thought    so  !       Cephe  an'  the    oF    man 
they  had  the  all-firedest  row,  I  tell  yeou.     Cephe  he 
was   comin'    to    see  ye  to-night,   but   he  won't '    he- 
won't ! " 

"  William  Tansley,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  know  !  By  jingoes  !  —  Cephe,  he  was 
startin'  off, — I'd  saddled  the  boss  for  him, —  but  the 
ol'  man  he  stopped  him ;  an'  Cephe  was  goin'  to  ride 
right  over  him,  but  the  ol'  man  got  his  dander  riz  — 
he  was  tu  much  for  him;  he  jerked  Cepho.off"'m  that 
boss,  and  there  they  had  it,  rough-an'-tumble,  lickety- 
switcli,  hand  over  fist,  heels  over  head,  right  on  the 
barn-floor,  while  I  stood  by  to  see  fair  play;  till 
bimeby  Cephe  he  giv  in,  an'  said,  ruther'n  hev  any 
words,  he'd  promise  never  to  come  and  see  ye  agin, 
if  the  ol'  man  'ud  give  him  three  thousan'  dollars. 
An'  the  ol'  rnan  said  'twas  a  bargain.  Anything  to 
keep  peace  in  the  family." 

"  Is  that  true,  Tip  ?  " 

"  'I'rue  as  I  live  an'  breathe,  an'  dror  the  breath  of 
life,  an'  hev  a  liviu'  bein'  1 " 

"  Jest  as  I  always  told  you,  Nancy.  I  knew  how 
'twouhl  be.  I  felt  sartin  Cephas  couldn't  be  depended 
upon.  Ilia  father  never 'd  hear  a  word  to  it,  I  always 
said.     Now,  don't  go  to  feclin'  bad,  Nancy,  an'  makin' 


NANXY  BLYNN'S  LOVERS.  331 

yerself  sick.     It  '11  all  be  for  the  best,  I  hope.     Now 
don't,  Nancy,  don't,  I  beg  an'  beseech  !  " 

"  What  ye  think  now  o'  Cephe  Boxton,  hey  ?  "  said 
Tip,  twisting  his  neck  about,  and  thrusting  his  nose 
almost  into  Nancy's  face. 

A  stinging  blow  on  the  ear  rewarded  his  imperti- 
nence, and  he  recoiled  so  suddenly  that  his  chair  went 
over,  and  threw  him  sprawling  on  the  floor. 

"Gosh  all  hemlock!  What's  that  fur,  I'd  like  to 
know,  —  knockin'  a  feller  down  !  " 

"  Why,  Nancy  1  how  could  you  ?  Hurt  you  much, 
William?" 

"Not  much;  only  it  made  my  elbow  sing  like  all 
Jerusalem !  She  thinks  I'm  lyin'  tew  her.  Never 
mind;  she'll  find  out.     Whore's  my  hat?" 

"  Ye  ain't  goin',  be  ye,  William  ?  Don't  be  in  a 
hurry  :  I  wouldn't." 

"  1  guess  I  ain't  wanted  here.  Ye  can  keep  the 
green  corn ;  dumbed  if  I  want  it.  Good  night.  Mis' 
Blynn." 

Tip  fumbled  with  the  latch,  and  made  a  show  of 
buttoning  his  coat,  giving  Nancy  time  to  relent.  But 
she  maintained  a  cool  and  dignified  silence  over  her 
sewing,  and,  as  nobody  urged  him  to  stay,  he  re- 
luctantly departed. 

For  some  minutes  Nancy  continued  to  sew  intently 
and  fast,  her  fluslied  fice  bowed  over  her  seam  ;  then 
suddenly  her  eyes  blurred,  the  noodle  sliot  blindly 
hither  and  thither,  and  the  quickly  drawn  thread 
snapped. 

"  Nancy,  Nancy,  don't !     I  beg  of  ye,  now  don't.'' 

"  0  mother  !  I  am  so  unhappy  !  What  did  I  strike 
poor  Tip  for?     He   didn't  kuow   any  better.     I    am 


332  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

alwaj-s  doing  something  so  wrong  !  He  couldn't  have 
made  up  all  that  story.  Cephas  would  have  been  here 
to-night,  I  know  he  would." 

"  Poor  child  !  poor  child !  why  couldn't  you  hear 
to  me  ?  I  always  told  you  to  be  careful  and  not  like 
Cephas  too  well.  But  maybe  he'll  come  to-morrow, 
and  explain  things." 

The  morrow  came,  but  no  Cephas.  Day  after  day 
of  loneliness  to  poor  Nancy,  night  after  night  of 
watching  and  despair,  and  still  no  Cephas. 

One  evening  it  was  stormy  ;  Nancy  and  her  mother 
were  together  in  the  plain,  tidy  kitchen,  both  sewing, 
and  both  silent,  when,  suddenly,  amid  the  sounds  of 
wind  and  driving  rain,  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Nancy    started   witli   a  wild  look ;    but  it  was   only 

Tip. 

"  Good  evenin',  all  the  folks.  I'd  no  idee  it  rained 
so.     Goin'  by,  thought  I'd  step  in.    Ye  mad,  Nancy  ?  " 

Nancy's  heart  was  too  much  softened  to  cherish 
any  resentment,  and  she  begged  Tip's  pardon  for  the 
blow. 

"  Wal !  I  d'n'  know  what  I'd  done  to  be  knocked 
down  for ;  though  I  s'pose  I  dew,  tew.  But  I  guess 
what  I  told  ye  turned  out  about  so  —  didn't  it,  arter 
all  ?  " 

"  Don't,  Tip  !  Don't  ye  see  ?  ye  make  her  feel 
awful  bad  !  " 

But  Tip  had  come  too  far  through  the  darkness  and 
rain,  with  an  exciting  piece  of  news,  to  be  easily 
silenced. 

"  Hain't  brought  ye  no  corn  this  time,  for  I  didn't 
know  as  ye'd  roast  it,  if  I  did.  Say,  Nancy !  Cephe 
an'  the  ol'  man  had  it  agin  to-day ;  an'  the  Judge  he 


NANCY  BLYNN'S  COVERS.  333 

forked  over  them  .three  thousan'  dollars.  I  was  to 
work  in  the  garden,  an'  seen  'em  through  the  lib'ry 
winder.  Judge  was  only  waitin'  to  raise  it.  Real 
mean  in  Cephe,  s'pose  ye  think.  Mabby  t'was ;  but, 
linkum-vity  !  three  thousan'  dollars  is  a  tarnal  slew 
o'  money." 

Hugely  satisfied  with  the  eficct  of  this  announce- 
ment, Tip  sprawled  in  his  chair,  and  chewed  a  stick. 
"  Saxafrax,  —  want  some  ?  "  lie  broke  off  a  liberal 
piece  with  his  teeth,  and  offered  it  to  Nancy.  ''  Say  ! 
ye  needn't  look  so  thunderin'  mad.  Cephe  has  sold 
out,  I  tell  ye ;  an'  when  I  offer  ye  saxafrax,  ye  may  as 
well  take  some." 

He  was  urging  her  to  accept  it,  —  'twas  "  re'l 
good,"  'twas  "  lickin'  good,"  —  when  the  sound  of 
hoofs  was  heard  ;  a  halt  at  the  gate ;  a  voice  saying, 
"  Be  still,  Pericles  !  "  footsteps,  and  a  rap  at  the  door. 

"  It's  Cephe  !  If  he  should  ketch  me  here  !  I  —  I 
guess  I'll  go  !     Confound  that  Cephe,  any  way  ! " 

Nancy,  all  in  a  flutter,  made  her  escape  by  the 
stairway;  observing  which,  the  bewildered  Tip  — 
who  had  indulged  a  frantic  thought  of  leaping  from 
the  window,  to  avoid  a  meeting  with  his  dread  rival  — 
changed  his  mind,  and  rushed  after  her,  scrambling 
up  the  dark  stairway  just  as  Mrs.  Blynn  admitted 
Cephas. 

Nancy  did  not  immediately  perceive  what  had  oc- 
curred ;  but  presently,  amid  the  sounds  of  rain  on 
the  roof  and  wind  about  the  gables,  she  heard  tlie 
unmistakable,  perturbed  breathing  of  her  luckless 
lover. 

"  Nancy  !  where  be  ye  ?  I  'most  broke  my  head 
agin'  this  blasted  beam  !  " 


334  YOUNG*  folks'  eeadikgs. 

"  What  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"  Coz  I  didn't  want  him  to  see  me.  I  did  give  my 
head  the  all-firedest  turik  !  " 

Cephas,  iu  the  mean  time,  liad  entered  the  neat 
little  parlor,  to  which  he  was  civilly  shown  by  the 
widow. 

''  Nancy  '11  be  down  in  a  minute." 

Nancy,  having  regained  her  self-possession,  ap- 
peared mighty  dignified  before  her  lover. 

Cephas  was  amazed. 

''  "What  is  the  matter,  Nancy  ?     You  act  as  if  I  was 
a  peddler,  and  you  didn't  care  to  trade." 
'  "  You  can  trade,  sir ;  you  can  make  what  bargains 
you  pjlease  with  others ;  but  —  " 

"  Nancy !  what's  this  ?  What  do  you  mean  by 
bargains  ?  " 

"  0,  nothing !  Only  I  am  surprised  that  you  are 
here  to-night.  I  thought  'twas  in  the  bargain  that 
you  were  not  to  come  and  see  me." 

"  Who  under  heavens  has  been  telling  you  anything 
about  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  true,  then,  your  father  has  offered  you 
money  ?  " 

«  fie  has,  Nancy  !  " 

"  To  buy  you  —  to  hire  you  —  " 

"  Not  to  marry  a  poor  girl ;  that's  the  bargain." 

"  And  you  have  accepted  ! " 

"  I  have  ;  and  what  I  have  done  is  for  your  happi- 
ness as  much  as  my  own.  He  has  given  me  three 
thousand  dollars.  I  only  received  it  to-day,  or  I 
should  have  come  to  you  before.  For  this  money  is 
for  you,  Nancy  !" 

"  You  dare  to  offer  me  money,  Cephas  Boxton  ?  " 


NANCY  blynn's  loveps.  335 

'^  Don't  you  see  ?  It  is  your  dowry.  I  promised 
not  to  marry  a  poor  girl;  but  I  never  promised  not  to 
marry  you.  Accept  the  dowry,  and  you  are  a  rich 
girl,  and  —  my  wife,  my  wife,  Nancy  !  " 

What  more  was  said  or  done  I  am  unable  to  relate ; 
for  about  this  time  there  came  a  dull,  reverberating 
sound  overhead,  ibllowed  by  a  rapid  series  of  concus- 
sions, as  of  a  ponderous  body  descending  in  a  swift 
but  irregular  manner  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs. 

It  was  Master  William  Tansloy,  who,  groping  about 
in  the  dark  with  intent  to  find  a  stove-pipe  hole,  at 
which  to  listen,  had  lost  his  latitude  and  his  equilib- 
rium, and  tumbled  from  landing  to  landing. 

Mrs.  Blynn  flew  to  open  the  stairway  door ;  found 
him  helplessly  kicking,  on  his  back,  with  his  head  in 
the  rag-bag;  drcAv  him  forth  by  one  arm;  ascertained 
that  he  had  met  with  no  injuries  which  a  little  salve 
would  not  repair ;  patched  him  up  almost  as  good  as 
new ;  gave  him  her  sympathy,  a  lantern  to  go  homo 
with,  and  a  kind  good-night. 

So  ended  Tip  Tansley's  unlucky  love-aflair  ;  and  I 
am  pleased  to  add  that  his  broken  heart  recovered 
almost  as  speedily  as  his  broken  head. 

A  month  later,  the  parish  parson  Avas  called  to  ad- 
minister the  vows  of  wedlock  to  a  pair  of  happy 
lovers  in  the  Widow  Blynn's  cottage  ;  and  the  next 
morning  there  went  abroad  the  report  of  a  marriage 
which  surprised  everybody  generally,  and  Judge 
Boxton  more  particularly.  In  the  afternoon,  Cephas 
rode  home  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  old  gentleman, 
and  ask  him  if  he  would  like  an  introduction  to  the 
bride. 


336  YOUNG  folks'  readings. 

"  Cephas ! "  cried  the  Judge,  filled  with  wrath, 
smiting  their  written  agreement,  "look  here.  Your 
promise  ! " 

"  Read  it,  if  you  please,  father." 

"  '  In  consideration,'  began  the  Judge,  running  his 
eye  over  the  paper,  ' .  .  .  I  do  hereby  pledge  myself 
never  to  marry  a  poor  girl.'  " 

"  You  will  find,  sir,  that  I  have  acted  strictly  ac- 
cording to  the  terms  of  our  contract.  And  I  have  the 
honor  to  inform  you  that  I  have  married  a  person  who, 
with  her  other  attractions,  possesses  the  handsome 
trifle  of  three  thousand  dollars." 

The  Judge  fumed,  made  use  of  an  oath  or  two,  and 
talked  loudly  of  disinheritance  and  cutting  off  with  a 
shilling. 

''  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  do  such  a 
thing,"  replied  Cephas,  respectfully ;  "  but,  after  all, 
it  isn't  as  though  I  hadn't  received  a  neat  little  for- 
tune with  my  wife." 

A  retort  so  happy,  that  the  Judge  ended  with  a 
heart}'  invitation  for  his  son  to  come  home  and  lodge 
his  lovely  incumbrance  beneath  the  paternal  roof. 

Thereupon  Cephas  took  a  roll  of  notes  from  his 
pocket. 

"  All  jesting  aside,  I  must  square  a  little  matter  of 
business  with  which  my  wife  has  commissioned  me. 
.She  is  more  scrupulous  than  the  son  of  my  father, 
and  she  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me  till  I 
had  promised  to  return  this  money  to  you." 

"  P'ie,  fie  !  "  cried  the  Judge.  "  Keep  the  money. 
She  is  a  noble  girl,  after  all,  —  too  good  for  a  rogue 
like  you  !  " 


J.  T.  Trowbbidgb. 


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